


Some Teacher (arc five)

by RaaorQtpbpdy



Series: Some Teacher [6]
Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Adorable Kids Being Adorable in Chapter Ten, Babysitting, Basketball, But like low-key stalking, Cooking, Domestic, Drawing, Family, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Film Festivals, Friendship, Gen, Newspapers, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Reunions, Road Trips, Shopping, Slice of Life, So That's Something to Look Forward to, So be warned, Stalking, Summer Vacation, That Aren't Even Real b/c I Know Nothing Abt Video Games, There's a Big Fuck Off Spider In Chapter Seven, summer job, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaaorQtpbpdy/pseuds/RaaorQtpbpdy
Summary: "That's the final bell class!" Nagisa-sensei announced as his students packed up their bags. "Have a great break, I'll see you back at school in the fall.""Good bye, Nagisa-sensei.""Have a great summer, Nagisa-sensei."Exams had been a beast, but despite their worst fears, everyone in class five got passing grades, if only just, and they were rewarded with summer vacation. No lessons, no assholes from more "respectable" classes, no responsibilities.**************Taking place right after Assassination Classroom, as seen largely through the eyes of his students. (In 3rd person of course, don't worry)(Arcs 1-4 Completed)Started..............31/7/20Completed........27/11/20Originally posted on my WattPad @RaaorQtpbpdy
Relationships: Akabane Karma/Shiota Nagisa, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Some Teacher [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1045673
Comments: 31
Kudos: 188





	1. Summer time!

**Author's Note:**

> These are all vignettes about the students' respective summers, so enjoy a few nice, low-key chapters before the shitshow that arc 6 is gonna be. Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which first term finally lets out, and the 3-5 kids are eager to make the most of their break with no classes, no judgmental peers, and no responsibilities, and Sujimura meets with an old friend.

"That's the final bell class!" Nagisa-sensei announced as his students packed up their bags. "Have a great break, I'll see you back at school in the fall."

"Good bye, Nagisa-sensei."

"Have a great summer, Nagisa-sensei."

Exams had been a _beast_ , but despite their worst fears, everyone in class five got passing grades, if only just, and they were rewarded with summer vacation. No lessons, no assholes from more "respectable" classes, no responsibilities.

"Um, Nagisa-sensei?" Sujimura had to get going; she had somewhere to be, but everyone in class was always saying how awesome and helpful Nagisa-sensei was, and it wasn't like she hadn't noticed it herself, so she thought she should ask for some advice about something.

"Yes, Sujimura-san?" He smiled at her, pausing his organizing. "Is something the matter?"

"Well, see, I have—I _used_ _to_ _have_ this friend, and she told me something, and I blabbed, and fu—messed everything up, and she switched schools, and we stopped being friends . . ." she paused to take a breath and think about what she was going to say next.

Nagisa waited patiently for her to find the words. 

"Well, she was pretty much my only real friend, and I've been thinking over what I did lately, and it was really sh—er . . . awful of me, so I called her and we're having lunch together tomorrow, and . . . I really want to make up with her, but I don't know how."

"Well, you should start with an apology," Nagisa suggested. "What exactly did you blab about, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I kinda . . . I outed her to the whole school," Sujimura said. Her eyes darted shamefully to the ground. 

"Wow," Nagisa said, taken aback. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't that. "Yeah definitely start with an apology. That's . . ." A few choice words rose up in the back of his throat, but he bit them off and swallowed them down, not wanting to say anything too negative to his student. 

"Not okay, I know that now," Sujimura finished for him, "but I was never raised in the most . . . what's the word they use . . . _tolerant_ environment, and I was a bitch, and I still am, but I . . . I think I want to be better."

"Tell her that, then," Nagisa suggested. "I can't say how she'll react, but as long as you're sincere, maybe she'll listen."

"Sincere?" Nagisa nodded to her. "Thanks, Nagisa-sensei. Have a good summer."

"You too," Nagisa wished as she left the classroom. "Good luck." 

She took the train to her younger brother's middle school to pick him up and take him home.

* * *

"Where are you going Yuna?" Seii asked his older sister.

"I'm going out to lunch," Sujimura told him as she latched her necklace behind her neck.

"Oh, can I come?" he asked.

"Not this time," she refused, "but I'll bring you back some leftovers.

"Okay, whatever. Just make sure they're _good_ leftovers," Seii said.

"Will do little guy."

"I'm not a 'little guy' anymore, I'm fourteen!"

"Right, sure." she chuckled.

"Seriously! I'll be in high school next year! You gotta stop calling me 'little guy,'" Seii insisted.

"You'll always be my 'little guy,'" his older sister teased as she walked out the door, hair and makeup meticulous as always, wearing a yellow sundress and white sandals.

It was difficult to keep her emotions in check. Sujimura felt her nerves tingling, and her stomach churning with guilt, remorse, anxiety, and a number of emotions she couldn't quite identify, or didn't want to. Every time she passed a stranger on the sidewalk, which was often, she wondered where they were going, and where they had come from, and whether they were as apprehensive as she was.

The possibility that the man carrying a blue umbrella, even though there was no chance of rain, or the woman walking a happy-looking pit-bull, or the little boy sprinting down the sidewalk at a breakneck speed, frantically turning his head as though looking for something, were doing something equally nerve-wracking and potentially life-changing as she, was a strange sort of comfort.

After a while, she found herself at the little coffee diner that she and her old friend Fuhane used to hang out at. Sujimura had expected to arrive early, but 16 minutes was a bit much. She was seated, by a host named Urei, that hardly looked as old as she was, and was probably breaking school rules by having this job, even if it was summer. She didn't need that information, so she filed it away in the back of her head to collect dust until spring cleaning.

Sujimura sipped her tea and waited patiently—actually more anxiously than patiently, for Fuhane to arrive. She waited for over half an hour. She started to think she might be stood up. She deserved it. But finally, the girl walked in the door.

Fuhane looked much the same as she had the last time Sujimura saw her, about two years before. She'd changed her hair. It was shorter, shaved on one side, and she'd grown out her bangs. She'd gotten her ears double pierced, too. She wore the same leather jacket she always used to wear over her blue shorts and tank top, despite the warm weather.

Sujimura stood up and gestured the other girl over to her. Fuhane wore a stone cold expression as she approached the table. She ordered a latte and turned to stare at Sujimura again, completely deadpan.

"It's nice to see you again," Sujimura said hiding her apprehension as well as she could behind a weak but hopeful smile. "How are you? How've you been?"

"I wasn't going to come," Fuhane said after a while, accepting her drink, not interested in pleasantries. "I planned to stand you up. I'm honestly surprised you waited this long."

"Ah, well . . . I _really_ wanted to apologize to you, Fuhane." Sujimura bowed her head formally, her neat bangs falling in front of her face. "I'm really sorry for what I did, and for how I treated you. I'm so very sorry. I don't want to make excuses, there aren't any good enough. The way I was raised . . . I didn't even realize how bad it was back then but—I've learned since then. I want to make amends and try to be better."

"Wow . . ." Fuhane looked almost shellshocked by those words. She didn't remember Sujimura ever making apologies like that back when they were friends. She remembered a lot of judgement and callous laughter, but not the words 'I'm sorry,' not even once. "You're . . . you're really serious about this. What changed?"

"I am serious about this. I . . . some of my classmates have been changing my mind, changing the way I look at things."

"Really?"

"Yeah. To be honest it's kinda trippy. I'm not used to being called out on my crap, but these guys aren't at all hesitant put me in my place. The honesty and the criticism . . . well it pissed me off at first, I won't lie, but it's actually refreshing. Having to try. Sorry, wow that sounds really pretentious, haha."

"It certainly sounds weird coming from _you_."

There was a long stretch of silence where Fuhane sipped her drink, and Sujimura did nothing.

"So—"

"I don't forgive you," Fuhane cut her off without so much as a look. "What you did caused me a lot of grief, uprooted my life, and put me in a really bad place for a long time. I'm finally doing better now thanks to cutting you out of my life, even if you were the one who ended our friendship. So no, I'm not going to forgive you, not today."

"I understand . . . I just wanted to get it off my chest . . . talk to you, ya know. Let you know I'm making an effort . . ."

"But . . . I can tell you're being honest," Fuhane tapped her fingers on the table, a tic Sujimura remembered that happened when she was irritated, but whether at Sujimura or herself neither was entirely sure. "And I've always been a bit of a doormat, God help me, so I'm willing to give you a chance. I'll give you today, and after that . . . well, we'll see."

"Thank you Fuhane," Sujimura sighed with relief. A chance was a chance as long as she didn't blow it, and much to her surprise, she didn't. They talked for a while, a long while actually. It was almost four when Fuhane's phone buzzed with a message and she paused to type a quick response, and Sujimura wondered where all the time had gone.

"That was my girlfriend, she's almost here to pick me up," Fuhane said, and called for her check.

"Oh." Sujimura felt a familiar turn in her stomach, and forced it down, schooling her face into a pleasant expression. "I hadn't realized the time. You didn't mention a girlfriend."

"Yeah, well, forgive me for not trusting you with that information right off the bat," Sujimura had to force herself not to flinch at her friend's biting tone.

"Sorry." The pause that followed was too long. It sparked the disappointing but familiar remembrance that they weren't friends, not anymore. Just ex-besties that have changed a lot since their paths diverted. It was scary, but it also seemed like they'd changed for the better; Fuhane was more stable, not as dependent, and Sujimura was less stubborn and close-minded, or at least she was trying to be. "So, uh . . . tell me about your girlfriend."

Fuhane eyed her warily before responding. "Her name is Katsumi Suzuki."

"That's it?" Sujimura asked after a moment. "That's all I get, just a name? What's she like?"

"She's nice, kinda shy . . . she likes animals . . ." Fuhane chuckled at her own awkwardness. "I don't know what to say. Um, she wants to be an engineer. What am I supposed to tell you?"

"I guess I don't really know either," Sujimura admitted, laughing along with her friend. Was it too soon to say they were friends again?

"Ah, she's here." Fuhane pocketed her phone and grabbed her purse and jacket. She started to head out, but paused. "Would you like to meet her?"

"Sure." Sujimura followed her out, and at the front of the place there was a girl. She was tall, but she held herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. Her hair was lavender, and messy, but aesthetically pleasing. She had broad shoulders and a straight figure, and she wore a knee-length skirt with an octopus on it.

"Katsumi, this is Sujimura," Fuhane introduced. "Suji, this is Katsumi, my girlfriend." Katsumi bowed her head and Sujimura offered a bow of her own.

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too, Sujimura."

"We'd better get going—see you later Suji!"

"Yeah." It was such a little thing, but as Sujimura waved goodbye to Fuhane and her girlfriend, she couldn't help her excitement at the tiny promise that 'see you later' held, in contrast to other salutations. She slipped back in to buy a sandwich for her brother before walking home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Sujimura's friends name from Fuyona to Fuhane because I'm the author and I don't have explain myself to you, and also because the meaning is nicer. I'm sure nobody remember that's she was mentioned as Fuyona waaaaaay back in arc three. I'll fix that sooner or later. Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	2. Prank time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mirikitani's sketchbook is stolen, and the Ryouma twins have a prank war (the housekeeper loses).

"Could you pass the salt?" Natsu asked her twin brother.

She didn't see him unscrew the top before he handed it to her. She didn't see his barely hidden smile.

She was reading. 

She didn't see. 

She didn't even suspect.

Natsu loved her brother dearly, really she did, but this was the last straw. She was tired of being the butt of his jokes and the victim of his pranks. She stared at the pile of salt in her soup, such a tiny little prank. Practically harmless. But it was one more installation in a long series of relentless inconveniences. She tried so hard to be the bigger person, to not stoop to such childish things, but the long-suffering sister had finally had enough.

This meant war.

—

"It has to be somewhere," Mirikitani muttered as he flung clothes and art supplies across his room. He'd been looking for hours, practically turned his apartment upside down looking. His mom was irate, but he didn't care. That wasn't important. What was important was that he couldn't find his sketchbook _anywhere_.

"You had better clean this all up you little shit!" his mom screeched from the kitchen where her drawers were now quite disorderly.

"Mom! I can't find my sketchbook!" He sprinted down the hall, catching himself on the kitchen doorframe just before he rammed into his mother.

"What?" His mother's expression instantly changed from anger to concern. "Where did you last see it?"

"I always put it on my desk before I go to bed, but I . . . I don't remember if I had it last night!"

"Did you leave it in your backpack? Did you go anywhere yesterday?"

"No . . . I was at the park for a while . . ."

"Could you have left it there?"

"No, I remember I had it in my hand when I was walking home . . . and I don't . . . think I dropped it."

"You're sure you didn't stick it in your bag and forget?"

"No. I already checked my bag four times!"

"Well maybe you put it down somewhere else in the house and just forgot. I'll help you look."

—

It was very late morning when Fuyu finally woke up. Gotta love summer break. He walked to his dresser, not having realized yet that anything was out of place.

Yawning, he opened his underwear drawer, already tugging his baggy t-shirt off in preparation to change, only to find the drawer empty. His fingers met with bare wood, and he dropped his shirt to look inside with confusion. He checked his other drawers, and nothing else was out of place, but all of his undergarments had mysteriously disappeared.

"Natsu! Natsu!" Fuyu put his shirt back on and scurried out of his room running headfirst into Rusui, the family's housekeeper.

"Master Fuyu, what's the matter?" Rusui asked, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, eh . . ." Luckily, his sister appeared to save him from an embarrassing explanation, or so he thought. "Natsu!"

"Good morning brother, what seems to be troubling you?" 

He was too distressed to notice how oddly she was speaking, but Rusui was not. She looked back and forth between the twins, forming a theory based on their behavior. Fuyu was obviously distressed about something, and Natsu knew what, but was feigning ignorance. This was going to be a real pain, she could tell already.

"I'm uh . . ." he paused, finally taking notice of the sly smile on his sister's face. "You know damn well what's troubling me. What did you do‽"

"I haven't the foggiest idea to what you are referring. Care to clarify?"

"Where are they?" he ground out through gritted teeth.

"Where are what?"

"Dammit Natsu! What did you do with my underwear‽"

"You may want to look out in the backyard."

In the backyard, he found nothing, until Natsu directed him to look upwards, into the limbs of the huge old cherry tree they used to climb when they were little. There he saw them, boxer-briefs and binders, draped over the branches like some weird as all hell Christmas ornaments.

This was it. His sister had finally snapped. This was her declaration of war.

_Oh it's on now._

_—_

"You last saw it yesterday, right?" Mrs. Mirikitani asked her son and he nodded. "Well you'll have to retrace your steps if you want to find it again."

"It's fine," Riku said, "I'll just get a new sketchbook. That one was almost out of pages anyway."

"That sketchbook was almost four months old, right? That's a lot of artwork to lose. Are you sure?"

"I mean _no_ , but mom, what're the chances I'll find it again?" 

"Well whatever they are, they're zero if you don't even look," his mother said. "I'll help you look punk. Let's go. What path did you take home from the park?"

"Oh . . . this way," Mirikitani directed, slipping his shoes on and leaving the apartment, his mother in tow.

They walked down the street, scanning along the path for the boy's misplaced sketchbook. Mrs. Mirikitani, who was far less shy than her son, asked some of the people around if they had seen his sketchbook. "About yea big. Green cover. Says 'Property of Riku Mirikitani' on the inside in really bad handwriting."

" _Mom_!"

"Well, I don't know about the inside, but I saw some guy this morning with a green sketchbook," one woman said and pointed north. "He was walking that way. Kinda . . . smirking I guess? I don't know. He looked kinda sketchy, I remember, so I kept my distance. Sorry I couldn't be more help. I hope you find it, kid."

"Thank you." They politely bowed their heads to each other and went their separate ways.

"Do you think that coulda been my sketchbook?" Riku asked his mother.

"I can't say it's likely, but it's certainly possible," she said. "And anyaway we didn't find anything in the park, so it couldn't hurt to try other options."

—

Fuyu spent most of the day climbing the old cherry tree to get his things down. Once he'd finished, he sifted through for a set of undergarments that wasn't covered in dirt and bark. It would all have to go in the wash. He sighed as he tossed them in his hamper for Rusui to wash with the rest of the household's laundry.

During the rest of the afternoon, he formulated a plan for retaliation and set out to get the materials. He returned with a large bag of paper cups, two bottles of sprite, and a box of clear marbles. He was in for a long night, but Natsu had started this war, so she should always have expected a counterstrike.

Natsu woke up to find her entire bedroom floor completely covered in paper cups full of clear liquid, and a note on her bedside table.

_You'll have to drink to escape. And in case you were considering just letting everything spill on the floor because "it's just water and it'll dry," you should know that some of these_ _ are _ _water, but some are vinegar, some are vodka, and some are sticky soda. Bottoms up, but be careful because some of them have marbles in them as well, and we wouldn't want you to choke. Oh, and one more thing, one of these cups has the bathroom key, which you'll need. Good luck!_

"I'll have to drink to escape huh?" Natsu shook her head and carefully placed her feet on the paper cups. "Don't you know anything about physics?" It was uncomfortable, a bit nerve-wracking, and she had to be very, very careful, but by distributing her weight evenly across several cups with each step, she made her way to the door, which, thankfully, opened outward.

"He stole the bathroom key, broke into the mistress's liquor cabinet and emptied her special Russian vodka. How am I going to fix this?" Natsu heard Rusui mumbling to herself, annoyed, as she passed by with Fuyu's laundry hamper. 

"Ehem, Miss Rusui," Natsu said, opening her door wide and showing the housekeeper what was inside. Rusui looked into the room, horrified. "Some of those cups have vodka, and one of them has the bathroom key. You can thank Fuyu for the hassle." Natsu left Rusui in the hallway, making plans for her next prank assault.

—

"I can't believe we found him," Mirkitani muttered.

"Yeah. It's real lucky he didn't go far, huh?" his mother commented. It actually hadn't been all that hard to find the shady-looking man with the green sketchbook. He wasn't exactly hiding himself. In fact, he was _trying_ to attract attention, because he was selling Mirikitani's drawings.

"Original artistic creations by yours truly, for sale here!" the man touted, opening up the notebook to a pastel landscape of Paradise High School's overgrown, out-of-use field, which was reserved for class five's P.E. classes. "I draw in a variety of mediums and subjects matters. These stunning pieces are the perfect accent to any room." A woman walked up to him and asked to see some of his works, he handed her the notebook and she flipped pages, examining each.

"I'm gonna go," Mirikitani said, hunching over, brimming with anxiety. "I don't want to be here."

"Absolutely not!" his mother said. "That's _definitely_ your notebook—I'd recognize your drawings anywhere—so sack up and go get it back."

"It does't matter, mom."

"Like hell it doesn't matter! Stick up for yourself. He stole your artwork and he's passing it off as his own! Doesn't that make you angry? He's _making_ _money_ off of _your_ talent without considering you at all! Doesn't that piss you off?"

"What am I going to do about it?"

"Make a scene!" she insisted. "At the very least go up to him and tell him that's your notebook. Call him out on it!" Mirikitani looked hesitant. "If you do it, I'll buy you something from the art supply store on the way home." His mother said with a sigh, and Mirikitani looked at her with wide eyes for a second, then started towards the man immediately. Free art supplies was something he _never_ passed up.

"Wow, this portrait is beautiful," the lady was saying. "Do you mind if I ask who the girl is? I noticed her in a lot of drawings."

"Excuse me, sir," Mirikitani said, before the charlatan could make up an answer. "That's my sketchbook."

"Hah! No it's not, kid. See that there?" He pointed to the picture the woman had asked about. "That's my niece, Mare. Now why would you be drawing my niece?"

"What? But, that's my classmate Sujimura. I had to beg her for weeks to let me draw her."

"I don't know what to tell you kid, but this is my sketchbook. I'm far more skilled and experienced than a child like you could ever be."

"Are you kidding me?" Mirikitani asked and scrunched up his eyebrows. "That portrait's not even good! I mean look at that! The hair is totally flat . . . and the eyes are too small. The shadows are all over the place, so there's no distinct light source. Plus I completely forgot to draw her necklace. Sujimura-san _always_ wears a necklace, but . . . I forgot to draw it. Plus it was my first real foray into dry pastels so . . . it's all smudged. Really the shading in general is just a disaster. Your saying that _that_ is supposed to demonstrate your skill and . . . experience?"

"It's still better than you could ever hope to be."

"If you're so great, then draw," the woman said.

"I'm sorry, what?" the man said, and Mirikitani shot her a quizzical look as well.

"This boy seems to know what he's talking about. So if you really are the owner of this notebook and these drawings, as you claim to be, then draw something."

"I uh . . . I don't have any inspiration . . . I can't draw without inspiration."

"You're not a very good artist, then," Mirikitani scoffed, then quickly covered his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Draw me, then," the woman said, frowning sternly. "A simple portrait, shouldn't be too much trouble. I'm sure a _great_ _artist_ like yourself can handle it." Mirikitani smiled gratefully at her.

"Yeah. A beautiful lady like her? What more inspiration could you want?" Mirikitani said, and she glanced at him with a suppressed grin. She was not what most would consider a beautiful lady. She had crows-feet, and lines were forming on her face. Her hair wasn't smooth or shiny, and she was pushing into the territory of old age, but given the circumstances, Mirikitani could swear she was an angel.

"I don't have a pencil." Mirikitani handed him the pencil he always carried with him, dismantling the man's last-ditch effort, and the lady handed him back the sketchbook. The man looked back and forth between the two nervously, but turned to one of the few remaining blank pages, looked at the woman, and started to draw. He was clearly untrained and unpracticed. His hand was too heavy, his lines shaky, his proportions were totally off. In the end, the portrait was more comparable to a Picasso than any of Mirikitani's drawings.

"You expect me to believe that you drew everything in this sketchbook?" the woman asked, looking down at the new drawing with raised eyebrows.

"I was experimenting with a new style," the man defended weakly. "Not like this kid could do any better."

"Well let's just see." She handed the sketchbook and pencil to Mirkitani, who smiled, then sat down and began to draw the kind woman.

He started with an outline, trying to match the shape of her face, put her eyes the right distance apart, the slope of her nose and the angle of her lips. He sketched out her hair, framing her face softly, shading the soft glow of the sunlight atop her head, accentuating it to look like a halo. Then he shaded her nose, her chin, her soft smile, her defined eyebrows, and finally her eyes. He added a little extra sparkle to them, softened the lines of her face to make her look a few years younger. He defined the slope of her shoulders, the neckline of her dress, added shadows, then looked back at her smiling face to add the finishing touches.

"Looks like you've been outdone," the kind woman said to the crooked man. "I suggest you give this boy the money you made from his artwork and leave before we call the police."

"Alright, alright!" He dug a wad of cash out of his pocket and pushed it into Mirikitani's hand, then skedaddled.

"Now, what's you name, son?" the lady asked gently.

"Mirikitani Riku, ma'am."

"Well, Mirikitani-kun, you've got some real talent there, if I say so. Keep up drawing, dear. You'll go far."

"Thank you ma'am . . . for everything. Um . . . would you like . . . would you like to keep that drawing I made of you?" he offered.

"May I? Would you sign it for me?"

"Um . . . if you want." He took a photo of the portrait with his phone, for himself to keep, before he carefully tore it out of his sketchbook. He turned it over and titled the drawing: _'When I Met an Angel' by Mirikitani Riku ('68)_. Then signed the lower right corner of the portrait. "Thanks again . . . It was very nice to meet you, ma'am."

"It was nice to meet you too, Mirikitani. Good luck with your art. You really are very good." He smiled at her and returned to where his mother was waiting a little ways away with a smirk.

"You did good, kid," Mrs. Mirikitani said. "Any idea who that lady was?"

"She was an angel," he sighed. "Now, art supply store."

"Right. Of course. And when we get home, you're gonna clean up that mess you made."

"Yeah, okay."

—

Fuyu woke up to a loud POP.

"What?" he said, sitting up stiffly.

"Twelve foot ceiling. Forty-nine helium balloons with no strings. Six darts. One half pound of confetti." Natsu threw a second dart, popping another balloon, and placed the rest on his desk. "Forty-eight. Have fun."

Half an hour later, Fuyu's floor was covered in confetti and mylar, and his ears were ringing. This was the eleventh day of their prank war, and so far Natsu had wallpapered his room with pictures of Sasuke Uchiha from _Naruto_ , poured ice cold marbles into his bed at 4 in the morning, hidden all of his bedding, sprinkled sugar on his windowsill to attract ants, moved all his furniture to the garage, and put a dead fish in his dresser, in addition to the underwear in the tree, and the recent balloon thing.

He had been just as bad though. He turned all her books upside-down on her shelves, filled her pencil cup with plain sticks and her pen cup with worms, changed all the contacts in her phone to muppets, put potted succulents in any place that might even mildly inconvenience her, tracked dirt all over her bedroom carpet. It was all great fun, but he wasn't getting as much sleep as he would like, and he was growing quite tired.

"Aah!" Rusui was standing in his doorway staring at the mess aghast. "Master Fuyu, what happened?"

"Natsu's confetti balloon prank," he said, and his voice was comically higher pitched than usual. He supposed that could be attributed to the fifty balloons' worth of helium he'd been inhaling. "Don't worry though; I'll get her back for this." Rusui's nostril flared and she scowled.

"No! No you will not! Your stupid grudge match is tripling the amount of work I have to do because you spoiled brats don't know how to clean up for yourselves! Where's your sister? Natsu!" she called out. A few moments later Natsu appeared.

"What, no 'mistress'? Must be serious."

"Your goddamn right it is," Rusui said. "I'm putting an end to this stupid prank pissing contest of yours. In the past two weeks I have done twice the usual amount of laundry, and shampooed both your carpets two more times than I should have had to. I've had to deal with worms, and ants. I have had to sort through hundred of cups of clear liquid for a bathroom key, and to refill your mother's bottles of vodka. I have scrubbed your walls and your furniture, peeled off hundreds of photographs, and reorganized twenty shelves of books, and now I have to clean up fucking confetti‽ Do you know how annoying this shit is? It's _hell_!

"So I'm stopping this right now. One more prank from either of you and you're doing your own chores for two months. I am not getting payed enough to clean up after this crap. Understood?"

The twins mumbled agreement. They'd never heard Rusui curse before. She was always so mild-mannered, and even when she complained she did so quietly to herself, and never snapped like this.

"I said. Am. I. Understood?" she ground out.

"Yes Miss Rusui," they said in unison.

"Great. Now, just to get it through your thick skulls, you're both cleaning up this balloon mess so you really get an idea for how pissed off I am. Lunch will be ready only when you're done."

"Yes Miss Rusui," they said again, and got started. Even working together, it took hours to get every piece of confetti picked up and thrown away. They made a silent truce while they cleaned together: as of that afternoon, prank wars would be a thing of the past.


	3. Girl time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Satori admits her crush on Asui to her therapist, and Asui manages to bluff herself and Kiya out of getting abducted.

"You know, I normally hate going out and shopping and stuff," Kiya mused as she strolled through the downtown area, Asui at her side, "but this isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Is that your roundabout way of thanking me for inviting you?" Asui asked, and was met with a shrug. "It's a shame Hinami couldn't come, although if she had, we'd probably still be at the bookstore. I barely managed to drag _you_ out of there, but if you can imagine, Hina is worse."

"That fits with what I've gathered about Satori. She's quiet though, so I don't know half as much about her as I do about you."

"Do you know a lot about me, then?"

_I know you pretend to be a terrible liar, but you're actually really good at it. You like paperclips for symbolic reasons because they hold things together, but always impermanently. And I know you're a pessimist, but you pretend to be optimistic for your best friend's sake, even though you and Satori have only known each other since you got put in the same class this year. And I know that it's the middle of summer and you're still wearing long sleeves._

Instead of saying any of this, Kiya simply shrugged.

"Whatever, what should we do next?"

"I think there's a stationary store around here somewhere."

"Aren't all the stores stationary?" Asui asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't see any of them getting up and walking around?"

"Stationary as in writing supplies," Kiya explained, unsure whether or not Asui was joking.

"Oh, Sakka No Burokku," Asui guessed, snapping her fingers in recognition. She grabbed Kiya's wrist and dragged her down the sidewalk. "I know where that is. I can't even tell you how many times Hina's asked to go there, it'll be weird going without her, but it's chill. You know, you two are pretty similar."

"You think?" Kiya hadn't really considered it, but Asui would know.

—

"Your parents tell me you've been doing much better since school started," Dr. Chiryo said with a soft smile. "Normally you have a major episode a few weeks into the school year, but it's summer break already, and you've hardly had any."

Satori nodded silently, pressing her lips together. She liked her therapist fine, but she could have been out with Asui right now . . . and Kiya too, she supposed.

"Something wrong?" Dr. Chiryo asked.

"No . . ." her therapist gave her a pointed look. "My friends invited me to go out with them today, but I had to turn them down because of our appointment."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Satori shrugged. "Why don't you tell me about your friends, are there any new developments there? This would be Asui . . . Yuri, right?"

"Mmhm. Asui and Kiya."

"I don't think I know about Kiya, tell me about them."

"Uh . . . Kiya Aiko. She's the one I mentioned that never came to class. Well she comes now, and she got assigned to me and Asui for group sp—er . . . a group project, and we, well Asui sort of adopted her into our friendship."

"And how do you feel about Kiya? Do you like her?"

"Yeah, I like her well enough . . ."

"But . . ."

"I like Asui more though . . ."

Dr. Chiryo smiled knowingly. "Is everything going well with your friends? Are you connecting with them like you want to?"

"Well . . . yes, I'm connecting with them okay, in fact I think I'm doing a lot better socializing with them and I'm more comfortable around them, but . . ." Satori trailed off, looking down at the floor, her hands pressed between her thighs. Dr. Chiryo let the silence lie for a long few moments.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said, then after another few moments of watching Satori refuse to make eye contact, spoke again. "Why don't you tell me more about Kiya? What do you think of her?"

Satori shrugged and hummed uncertainly. "She's . . . I don't know how to describe it really. It's not that she's not nice, it just seems like she wants to do everything herself, and sometimes, it's like she forgets she's not alone. I don't really understand it. She's cool though. She's really smart, and hardworking, and she's like scary good at picking locks, which, I don't know where she even learned that, but it's cool. And she gives really good hugs; she's surprisingly tactile once you spend time with her."

"And you like Kiya, you said? You feel happy and comfortable around her, and you enjoy her company?"

"I enjoy her company, and she and I like some of the same things . . ."

"You know I won't judge you or think less of you for any feelings you might have, right Hinami?" Dr. Chiryo assured the girl, sensing their was something she might be afraid to say. "This is a completely safe space, and you don't have to let your anxiety stop you from sharing anything with me."

"I don't know if I like Kiya that much . . . I mean I don't _dislike_ her, but she just makes me feel . . . angry? Sad? I don't know, something bad, maybe even worse than anxiety, and that's what I dislike."

"Why don't you try to describe the feeling to me, instead of trying to identify it?"

"Well it's like . . . I sometimes get a lump in my throat, and I can't look at her, and I can't look away, and I feel hot and upset and then I feel like I might cry or punch something, but I don't want to hurt Kiya, I just want to curl up somewhere where she isn't. Oh God, do I _hate_ Kiya?"

"No, I don't think that's it." Dr. Chiryo shook her head and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Is it a constant feeling, or does it fluctuate?" Satori thought for a moment.

"It fluctuates, but it's usually there," she answered.

"When does it go away?"

"Hmm, let me think . . . When I see Kiya by herself, or talking to someone outside of our little friend group it's not as bad, or when Asui is talking to me," Satori squinted her eyes, looking down.

"And when is it the worst?"

"When she's standing really close to Asui, or they hug or touch. That's when it's the worst." Satori didn't have to think about that answer nearly as much. She would have to have been a complete idiot not to notice the feeling start to physically ache during those times. When they woke up cuddling during the camping trip, when Asui casually laid her arm across Kiya's shoulders, when they leaned in close to each other to compare their answers for the homework.

"Well, I've got an idea what it might be," Dr. Chiryo said. Satori met her eyes for the first time in a while. "I think you might be jealous of Kiya because she spends time with your best friend. I think that's the reason you're more on edge today than usual, because they're out having fun without you."

"No, it's not because I'm not having fun with them. If I'm jealous it's because . . . because . . ." Dr. Chiryo did not attempt to fill the silence that followed, just waited expectantly for Satori to collect herself enough to finish, and eventually she did, and in a very small voice, Satori made a big admission. "If I'm jealous, it's because I think I might be in love with Asui."

—

"Dang, and I thought it was hard getting you out of the _bookstore_ ," Asui joked as she and Kiya finally walked out the front doors of Sakka No Burokku.

"Sorry," Kiya said, gripping her new box of calligraphy inks that she wanted to try.

"Hey, stop that! You don't have to apologize to me for anything. You got that? Especially not for the things you enjoy." Asui put her hand on her hips and scowled for a moment, then dropped her hands with a sigh. "I sure know how to pick friends, don't I. Little bundles of anxiety and social awkwardness, you and Hina both. You've got to learn a little self-confidence."

"Right, I'll get right on that," Kiya said, rolling her eyes. She did not mention that that was about the sixth time Asui had compared her to Satori so far.

"Good, so what do you think, lunch?" Asui suggested, clapping her hands together. "I'm in the mood for yakitori, what do you think?" Kiya looked around at all the stores and restaurants around them.

"Is there even a place around here that sells yakitori?" Kiya asked doubtfully. "That's a festival food; they don't sell it at a whole lot of restaurants."

"Probably not, but I'm sure we can find some kind of summer festival around here somewhere." Asui shrugged and started walking further downtown. "It's not like we're in a rush. I mean unless you're starving. If you're really hungry, I don't mind doing something more available for lunch."

"No, I don't mind. Actually, now that you've said it, yakitori sounds really good," Kiya said, following her friend.

"It's settled then. I'm pretty sure there's a park or something around here that has a lot of festivals, and I think it's this way."

"Well since you sound so confident . . ."

"Shut up, I could take the kneecaps out, but then I'd face liability issues," Kiya smirked at her. "You know what, screw you. There's a park around here that has a festival going, and it's this way," she amended and walked more forcefully down the sidewalk, while Kiya followed chuckling behind her.

It was about six blocks later that the pair began to suspect that they had gone the wrong direction. The sidewalks were all empty except for them, and they didn't hear anything that would indicate a summer festival in the direction they were headed. In fact, everything was eerily silent for the time of day, until it wasn't.

"Well, look at the cute little girlies that wandered into our territory," cooed the voice of a man in probably his early thirties. He was wearing a royal blue jacket with the word 'Ozoku' on the back, and a crown patch on the sleeve. Two other men appeared behind him, both in matching Ozoku jackets. "You lost, little girls? We can help you find your way." Kiya's eyes darted around as she tensed up like a cornered cat. Her tongue flicked across her lips briefly.

"They're gang members," Kiya muttered, just loud enough for Asui to hear, and those three words threw Asui's mind into action.

She remembered some research that she did when the class teamed up to help Shirota. The Ozoku were the Midoryu's rivals, she recalled. That was information she could use, she was sure of it. She summoned all her confidence. Now was not the time to start acting timid.

"We're not lost," Asui said, standing up straight and meeting the eyes of the man who appeared to be the leader. "We're just passing through, and if I were you, I'd let us."

"Oh, is that so?" The three men snickered. "I don't know if you can count, young lady, but you're outnumbered, and you're cornered on our turf. Looks to me like you're in no position to be making threats, darling." He grabbed Asui's shoulder, but she didn't flinch. She forced herself not to react to his touch.

"If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you take it off me." Asui leveled a hard glare at him. "You should know, we're under the protection of the Midoryu." _What was the name Shirota's older brother went by?_ She tried desperately to remember. _Was it Trouble? Big trouble? No. It means big trouble. God, I hope I'm right_. "In fact the pair of us are close personal friend's of Daimondai himself." The man's hand left her shoulder like it was covered in hot coals. _Thank God I was right!_

"You . . . you're friends of Diamondai?" It was one of the other two men that spoke this time.

"Yup, and he'll be very unhappy if he finds out some wannabe badass Ozoku nobodies tried to hurt us. He'd probably put a hit on your asses," Asui said with a smirk. This was working better than she could have hoped. "So unless you want scores of gang-bangers much more terrifying than your lame-ass selves to find you and totally fuck you up, you'd better leave us the hell alone."

"Bon, maybe we shouldn't risk it."

"Shut up!" the leader hissed at the man who'd just spoken. "I'm not afraid of a few inexperienced teenagers playing at organized crime."

"Is that what you think of us?" Asui asked in a loaded tone. "Because I think my friend and I can prove otherwise."

"If I'm not afraid of 'scores of gang-bangers' what makes you think I'll be afraid of a couple of little girls?"

"I'm sorry, I must have mistaken you for a man with sense," Asui said.

"I could take you two princesses both at once, and I will, and then later tonight, I will again." Kiya grimaced, but Asui maintained her cocky façade.

"Prove it dickweed," she scoffed, taking a ready stance, crouching low to the ground. Kiya put down her shopping to prepare herself as well.

"Let's go, girlie."

The fight was over in moments. Asui darted between his legs, grabbing his ankles and knocking him flat on his face. He tried to get up, but Kiya, recognizing Asui's maneuver the moment she moved in, was ready for it, and she pinned him down, with his arms firmly trapped behind his back while Asui stood behind them and turned to the other two with a wild, murderous look in her eyes.

"You wanna go next, assrag? I'd estimate two hits, me hitting you, and you hitting the floor." The other two shook their heads vehemently, and backed away. "Let him go," Asui said. "I think we've knocked some sense into their thick skulls by now. They won't try anything if they know what's good for them." Kiya nodded and climbed off, letting the man return to his buddies, then they all retreated together.

"Holy crap," Kiya said, hands trembling as she picked up her shopping bags. "That was amazing Asui, how were you so calm?"

"Are you kidding? I was totally freaking out!" Asui put a hand to her chest and tried to calm her pounding heart. "I didn't know if I was gonna get the names wrong, or slip up and say something that would make them realize it was a bluff. I'm just lucky I caught him off guard."

"Really? You seemed so confident. I mean that 'me hitting you, and you hitting the floor' line?"

"I heard that in a movie once, and I've kinda wanted to use it ever since." Asui shrugged. "Let's get out of here, I don't think we're going the right way after all."

"Ya think?"

—

"How long do you think you've felt this way for Asui?" Dr. Chiryo asked Satori in response to her revelation.

"I don't know, probably a few months, since before the class trip," Satori answered, her face had turned a violent shade of red, and she fiddled with her hands in embarrassment, adjusted her glasses and tugged at her bright green hair, hiding her face as well as she could to compensate for the overwhelming sense of vulnerability that had just washed over her.

"Are you afraid of your feelings for her?"

"No," Satori mumbled. Her therapist's silence prompted her to explain further. "I just don't want to lose her."

"And Kiya is threatening your relationship with her, as friends?" Dr. Chiryo said, tilting her head forward ever so slightly.

"I think she might like Asui like I do," Satori admitted, dangerously close to tears. It had been quite some time since she'd cried in a therapy appointment. After almost two years, she was pretty comfortable with Dr. Chiryo, but there were some subjects that she had never brought up before now.

Until today, she had never once mentioned her sexuality, and she tried to avoid talking about negative emotions like fear or jealousy within her friend group. Today, it seemed, was what Dr. Chiryo like to refer to as a breakthrough day. Like the day Satori came in and said she'd managed to bring herself out of a panic attack in less than five minutes. Or the day she came in and said she thought she met her best friend forever and then spent the whole time gushing about her new friend, Asui. Today, she had admitted her romantic feelings for that friend, and her fear of losing her. 

"Do you think you could admit your feelings to Asui?" Satori shook her head. "What about Kiya?" Satori looked up, confused. "Do you think you could talk to Kiya? Maybe ask her if she has feelings for Asui, or tell her that you do? Communication is important, Hinami, especially with people you care about. And it seems like even if you're a little jealous and maybe a little afraid, you do care about Kiya, and you clearly care a great deal about Asui as well." Satori looked down again, a tear finally spilling down her cheek.

"Of course," Dr, Chiryo said. "If you're not ready yet, that's fine too. You don't have to do anything right away. The fact that you trusted _me_ with this is a huge milestone, Hinami, and I'm so, so proud of you. In fact, I'd even say this is a breakthrough day, wouldn't you?" Satori nodded.

"Thank you sensei," Satori said, wiping her eyes with her palms. Dr. Chiryo offered her a tissue, which she accepted.

"Congratulations. Now . . . we're almost out of time, is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Satori shook her head, and Dr. Chiryo leaned in conspiratorially. "Then why don't I let you go a little bit early and you can go meet up with your friends." Satori grinned and stood up, heading toward the door.

"Thank you, sensei. I'll see you next week."

"I'll see you next week." Then Satori was out the door, phone in hand, open to her messages with Asui. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for several moments and she took a deep breath, psyching herself up to text first. She drafted a message to Asui as she walked to the bus stop.

_To: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_I finished my thing can I meet up with you guys somewhere?_

She expected Asui to take much longer to respond than she did. But then again, Asui was never the type to wait a few minutes before responding.

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Hells ya! We're just looking for a festival or smth where we can get yakitori, you down?_

_To: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Most of the festivals aren't going to start for another few hours but do you want me to look for some nearby tonight?_

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_That would be awesome!!! And uh... once u do could u send the address so I can put it into gps? We're kinda lost?_

_To: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Oh no are you okay???_

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_We're fine, we just got kinda turned around lol_

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Kiya-chan says hi btw_

_To: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Okay. I'll look up some festivals give me a couple of minutes. Are you still downtown?_

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Yes_

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_At least I'm pretty sure we are. We've gotta be close to downtown, anyway_

Satori found a festival just as the bus arrived that stopped downtown. Once she found a seat, she texted Asui the address and promised to meet the other girls there, then smiled down at Asui's response.

_From: ◊ Asui-chan ◊_   
_Don't be late ;P_

It was nearly thirty minutes later when the three of them finally met up, and the vendors were just starting to set up their stalls. Games and delicious festival food would be ready in just a few more minutes.

"Hina!" Asui shouted as she caught sight of her friend. "I'm glad you were able to meet up with us after all. Sorry it took so long for us to get here. We got more turned around than I thought."

"It's not a problem. The festival is just getting set up, anyway," Satori said, waving a hand dismissively, and accepting the hug Kiya offered her.

"Speaking of which," Kiya said, and licked her lips as she pulled away. "I wasn't all that hungry before, but now I'm famished. How long do you think it'll be before the food stalls are set up?"

"Too long," Asui groaned. "But we've been wandering around since like, noon, looking for yakitori, and I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Satori chuckled at the two of them, and for the rest of that evening, as they played festival games, and ate yakitori, and Kiya and Asui regaled Satori with their tale of being threatened by the Ozuku gang members, despite what she now recognized as jealousy gnawing at her insides, Satori couldn't suppress a smile. She had never had a friend before this year, and now she had two, and she loved them both dearly. It was probably the happiest she had ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this like, two weeks ago, buuuuuutttt.... yeah... my bad. Sorry about that fellas. Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	4. Work time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ushiwara nearly gets killed by botany, Katsura gets a job at Matsuraiken which proves to be a bit of a learning curve for her, and Shirota discovers a stalker, who turns out to be Hakushaku, and they have lunch.

"Ackghaarghopthoofugni!" Ushiwara articulated loudly from his greenhouse where he was currently trapped under a large spotted plant.

After examining samples from the plant he'd taken home from class a while ago, Ushiwara had been trying to reverse engineer a plant growth formula that wouldn't turn the flora purple with orange spots. Needless to say it hadn't worked as planned, and now, Ushiwara was trapped under an azalea bush the size of a car wondering if he shouldn't have done this experiment outside.

It had grown even faster than the plant from the classroom, and it was still growing, though markedly slower than when he'd first introduced the solution. At least it wasn't purple, but it still had those horrible orange spots. Based on what he had observed from underneath the monster rhododendron, the spots were not directly linked to the solution, but appeared as a result of the unnatural growth, like stretch marks. It could also be a reaction to the flowers' toxicity.

In hindsight, he should have picked a safer plant to start out with. Ah well, hindsight was just foresight for later experiments, no point groaning about it. For the present time, Ushiwara had to figure out how to untangle himself from the azalea stalks, and get the plant out of the greenhouse if that was at all possible.

Pushing aside stems the width of his wrist, Ushiwara struggled against the flowers toward solid ground. He managed it, forearms growing sore from having to work so hard in such a cramped space, but he wasn't done yet. He had to find the roots so he could pull this monstrosity out of his greenhouse.

The roots had broken out of the flower pot, but fortunately they didn't seem to have sunk themselves anyplace too damaging. Ushiwara tugged and yanked the roots out of what little soil they'd managed to find, and maneuvered them to the door of the greenhouse, knocking down several other plants in the process, including his hanging roses, which would be a particular bother to clean up, what with all the thorns, but that was a problem for afterwards.

His next concern was whether or not the gargantuan azaleas would be able to fit through the greenhouse door. He managed, with a lot of adjusting and readjusting to get the roots out, but the foliage was another matter. He whistled loudly and his dogs came running.

Hana and Hoga, Ushiwara's two large mutts, were generally not allowed in the greenhouse, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He may not know what breed his dogs were, having found them both by a dumpster, but he knew that they were both powerful creatures.

Ushiwara had his dogs pull the plant as hard as they could by the roots, while he shifted the stems and stalks so they might fit through the door. It was quite a laborious effort on both parts, but after a long while, they managed to get the disastrous experiment out of the enclosed space.

"Good dogs!" Ushiwara commended, crouching down and beckoning Hana and Hoga to him for scratches and belly rubs. "Good, good girls! Who wants treats?" He took them both to the house and brought out two water bowls and a bag of treats for them. He took a seat on the back step to feed them. "You must be tired, huh. That was hard work, but you did a good job, and now you get a break. I still have to clean up whatever mess that thing made in the greenhouse." He gave the dogs one more scratch behind the ears, and headed back to the greenhouse.

The mutant azaleas had already rerooted themselves in the harder soil of the backyard; the bush was now taller than the fence, though it wasn't getting visibly larger anymore, thankfully. Ushiwara sighed. He wasn't sure what he'd do with it yet, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He stepped through the greenhouse door and glanced at the lamentable state of it with a frown. Pots broken, plants tipped over, dirt and giant petals everywhere, and then he caught sight of the camellias in the corner. His mother's Japanese camellias which he had so lovingly tended to since her passing, had been crushed in the chaos. Leaves and petals littered the floor, many of the stems were broken, and Ushiwara was overcome with anguish that quickly turned to rage bubbling up inside him.

That damn plant was going to get it. He grabbed his shears, and his weed killer, but he knew that wouldn't be nearly enough. He went out to the garage and found bleach, and a chainsaw his dad used to prune large trees. He drenched the roots of those godforsaken azaleas in bleach, and hacked off every flower, stomping on them for good measure, and finally throwing them onto the fire pit to burn later that evening. Then he hacked the plant apart further.

Sated for the time being, he returned to the greenhouse to tidy it up. He managed to salvage the camellia bush, thankfully, though only one intact flower remained. He untangled and rehung the roses, repotted plants whose previous pots had broken, swept up the excess dirt and azalea petals, and threw away the broken terra-cotta pots.

He and his father roasted marshmallows in the backyard that night over a particularly fragrant fire.

* * *

"Hey, I noticed you were looking for a temporary hire for the summer," Katsura stepped into Matsuraiken holding the 'Help Wanted' flyer. "I was wondering if I could apply for a summer job here?"

"Of course," Muramatsu said, gesturing her to come up to the counter. "We usually get so busy in the summer, as you can tell." There were no customers at the moment, it being ten in the morning and the shop having just opened. She looked around at the empty shop, then back at him with a puzzled expression before she realized he was being sarcastic.

"Do you have any experience working a service job?" he asked.

"Actually, I've never had a job before," Katsura said, then quickly amended, "but I have an excellent memory, and I'm willing to learn."

"Welp, can't ask for more than that! Except, you know, good references and relevant work experience, but whatever. Everyone's gotta start somewhere. How about a trial run today, and if you can prove yourself before you leave, you're hired."

"Alright, I won't let you down!"

"Great, let's get you an apron, follow me." Muramatsu led Katsura back into the kitchen, then through a door labeled 'Employees Only' where he found her an apron, and told her she should leave anything she had on her in one of the open lockers.

"Alrighty, waitressing is fairly simple," Muramatsu began. "You ask people what they want to order; you write those orders down; you tell those orders to me; I cook them up and give them to you; you take them to the proper table. You got it?"

"Yep."

"Good. You should probably put up you hair so it doesn't get in anyone's food, and remember to smile and be nice, even when the customer's a jerk."

"Got it!" Katsura dug a hair-tie out of her purse and pulled her dark blonde curls into a ponytail.

"Alright then, let's get in there." He clapped her on the shoulder encouragingly. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

During the next two hours, Katsura messed up no less than seventeen times. She kept tripping, and more than once, Muramatsu had to pull her back up by the apron strings. Four times she wrote down orders wrong, and whenever a customer asked for a suggestion she got flustered and babbled for a few minutes before the customer asked her to give them a few more minutes.

Finally Muramatsu pulled her aside to figure out what could be done. "Alright Katsura, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Muramatsu. I know I keep messing up. I can go." Katsura untied her apron. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"Up bup bup buh, hold on!" Muramatsu said, stopping her. "I didn't ask if you could go, I asked 'what's going on,' that's not the same thing, although I can understand your confusion."

"I don't understand . . ."

"You're Nagisa's student, and I know what he's teaching you kids, so it's hard to believe you can be this uncoordinated."

"Well . . . waitressing is different from assassination? How am I supposed to apply _those_ skills to delivering someone's order?"

"Is that it kiddo?" He chuckled. "You gotta stop compartmentalizing your skills. Don't turn 'em on and off. Use the balance and evasive techniques you've been taught to deliver orders without falling over or dropping them. Take your conversational and communication skills and use 'em to talk to customers. I know you can do this Katsura, so I'm willing to give you one more shot if you're willing to take it."

"Okay."

"Great, now put that apron back on because the lunch rush is starting." He clapped her on the shoulder and left toward the kitchen.

"Right!" she squeaked and rapidly retied the apron.

_Use my assassination skills to be a waitress?_ Katsura considered. Figuring things out wasn't her strong suit, but she had little choice now. _Okie dokie . . . that means . . ._

_'Stop compartmentalizing your skills'_

_Oh duh! I've been trying to create a new skill set from scratch like picking a new skill in a video game. I should be reapplying skills I already know in new ways. I'm so stupid!_ Katsura smacked her forehead and headed back into the restaurant, leaving her notepad and pen in the break room.

"Good afternoon, may I take your order?"

"Yeah I'll have the regular with extra . . . are you going to write this down?"

"Don't worry, I'll remember it."

When the orders get mixed up on the way from her brain to the page, the solution was to cut out the page. If there was one thing Katsura was good at, and if she was being honest there really was only one, it was remembering things.

"I need a regular with extra garlic for table two, an acorn noodle and an extra spicy house special for table six, and fresh tea for the counter," Katsura called into the kitchen.

"Got it!"

"Can I get you a refill sir?"

"Are you gonna drop it this time?"

"Heh, no I'll be careful not to drop it," she said with a forced but convincing smile. On her way back with a full cup of coffee, a patron bumped into her, but she regained her balance quickly with a turn, not spilling a single drop. She couldn't help the smirk on her face as she placed the cup on the table and weaved her way gracefully back to the counter to pick up the next order.

"We are tourists," the blue-eyed woman said with heavily accented Japanese. "What dish would you recommend?"

"Matsuraiken's acorn noodles are a special house recipe, critically acclaimed, nationally famous, and a unique dish you can't get anywhere else," Katsura recited as clearly as she could, so the foreign woman could understand.

"Ooh!" The woman turned to the man across from her and said something in a language Katsura though might be German, before turning back to the her. "We would like two of that please!"

"Coming right up!" Katsura smiled.

She felt like such an idiot for all the trouble she was having before. Aside from the occasional rude old person and one group of particularly rowdy teenagers, waitressing was a breeze. All she had to do was stop thinking of each aspect of her life as separate, and she was suddenly much less of a ditz. Before she knew it, it was late afternoon, and the crowd had thinned substantially. All that remained was a very wealthy looking woman with a severe expression at the counter, and a couple of middle school kids in the corner booth.

"Katsura, come 'ere for a sec!" Muramatsu beckoned.

"Yes sir?" She walked over to him.

"Right about now would be the end of your shift," he explained with a grin. "You did pretty well once you got your head in the right place. I'd like to officially hire you for the summer."

"Really‽" She beamed.

"Yup." He handed her a piece of paper with some information written on it. "That's uniform specifications and my contact information. E-mail me with your availability and we'll get you on the schedule."

"Of course! Thank you so much Mr. Muramatsu, you won't regret this!"

"I'm sure I won't. Now clock out and go have some fun or take a nap or something, and I'll see you soon."

"Okie dokie!" Katsura grinned and practically skipped to the break room to grab her stuff. Her first job! How exciting!

* * *

Shirota felt eyes on him. He'd had this feeling for a while, like someone was following him. It came and went, and it made him uneasy. He couldn't recall exactly when it started, but it was around the same time as the mess with Midoryu before the break (the mess which he blamed for his poor marks on the finals).

He hadn't felt it during school, so he almost forgot about it, but once school was out it came back. Was he just paranoid? He'd taken to going straight home after school, but now that it was summer he couldn't just stay home all day. Well . . . he could, but he didn't want to. He was back with his brother, and they almost never talked now, not about anything. It was hella awkward.

_Meow_

Shirota felt something warm rub against his ankles and he looked down to see a skinny black cat with rather unkempt fur and two-toned eyes looking back at him. "Hello little guy." He crouched down to the cat's level and reached out his hand for the creature to sniff before stroking its soft head. "Do you belong to someone, little buddy?"

_Brrraoow_

A second cat strutted up to Shirota, a dust-brown feline with chunks of its long fur missing and covered in scabs. "Another one?" The second cat didn't bother waiting for Shirota to pet it. It simply hopped onto his elevated knee, and promptly slid off, its claws causing him to wince, and it's ungraceful landing causing him to laugh. "You alright there?" It mewled indignantly, or he assumed it was indignant.

The black cat meowed for attention again. When Shirota turned to look at the black cat, he saw a third feline limping toward him. "Where are all these cats coming from?" He entertained the presumably strays with equal parts enjoyment and exasperation when a few moments later a fourth cat approached. But this one he recognized somehow.

It was a grey tabby, with matted fur, a torn ear, and a scratch through one eye. The other cats backed away nervously and it slunk towards Shirota as menacingly as was possible for a creature so small. It seemed to be looking him over unscrupulously with its one good eye as it inched ever closer. Shirota glanced around uncertainly. This was definitely one of the weirder situations he'd found himself in. He'd never felt so unworthy as he felt as crouching there under the judgmental gaze of that ragged grey cat.

As soon as it was close enough to him, the tabby sniffed him and nudged its head under his hand, and he rubbed behind its ears, bemused. Apparently that was some sort of signal because the other cats regrouped practically on top of him and he sat down on the pavement, completely at a loss for how to proceed.

He felt the eyes much more intensely on the back of his head again. "They like you," a voice came from behind him and Shirota whipped his head around to see Hakushaku.

_That's right_ , he remembered, _the grey one was his cat_.

"How many cats do you _have_?" Shirota asked him. "And why are they swarming me?"

"I don't have any cats," Hakushaku said. "They're not mine, they just live in the neighborhood, and they only like me because I feed them sometimes and let them sleep on my fire escape when it rains." The grey cat meowed and trotted over to Hakushaku to weave around his legs. "But they're street cats, and usually they don't like anyone. It's strange that they'd take to you so quickly all the sudden. Especially this one," he said bending down to gently pick up the animal and hold it close to his chest.

"Do they have names?"

"Not that I know of."

"Hey . . . it's Hakushaku, right?" Shirota said, just to be sure he'd remembered the young man's name correctly. Hakushaku nodded. "Have you . . . wow, it feels kinda rude and weird to ask this, but . . . have you been following me?" Hakushaku pressed his lips together and nodded again after a few seconds. "What‽ Why‽"

"Dunno, really." He shrugged. "At first your brother asked me to keep an eye on you, and then . . ." he shrugged again. "God it makes me sound like a total creep . . . I met you, and you . . . intrigued me, and I wanted to know more about you."

"You couldn't have just talked to me?" Shirota demanded, taken aback.

"No," he said. "'Cause the thing is, I'm painfully awkward. The only reason I could talk to you at all before was because your brother was there, and the only reason I can talk to you now is because of the cats."

"What?"

"They like you," he repeated. Shirota blinked a few times, now more amused than creeped out. What a strange condition to have on your social anxiety. 'No talking to someone until the neighborhood strays give them the OK.' "Look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, or anything. I honestly don't even know why I kept it up. You must be really freaked out now. I'll stop. Please don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry," Shirota said, barely suppressing a smirk. "Although you're right, it did make me uncomfortable, and I would very much like you to stop. But at least it wasn't a _complete_ stranger."

"Thanks? I'll cut it out, sorry again." Hakushaku started to leave, but Shirota got a spark of curiosity, and made a questionable split-second decision to act on it.

"Hey, wait!" Hakushaku turned back to him. "Uh . . . I was headed out for ramen when the cats showed up, would you like to join me?"

"You sure?" Hakushaku quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you some things."

"Alright." Hakushaku gave the cat one last scratch under the chin before opening his arms and letting it bound gracefully back to the sidewalk, and stretch, and slink away.

* * *

A little bell chimed as Shirota and Hakushaku stepped into Matsuraiken.

"Welcome!" greeted Katsura as she saw her friend, her smile faltering slightly as she recognized who he was with, but only for a moment. "Have a seat anywhere you'd like I'll take your order in a moment."

"Hey Katsura, since when do you work here?" Shirota asked over his shoulder once he and Hakushaku were seated.

"Oh, Mr. Muramatsu gave me a summer job here," she explained. "It was . . . a learning curve, but I'm doing pretty well with it now. Do you know what you want to order?"

"I'll have the usual," Shirota said. "You know what that is, right?"

"Of course, I've come here with you enough times to remember, and your friend?"

"Uh . . ." Hakushaku slumped his shoulders, uncomfortable under the gaze of the two high-schoolers. "I've never actually been here before so . . . just get me whatever's good . . ."

"The special okay?"

"Sounds fine . . ."

"Alrighty, coming right up!" Katsura said, and left without writing anything down.

"You said you had questions?" Hakushaku prompted.

"Oh yeah, about you and my brother."

"What about me and your brother?" Hakushaku's eyes narrowed. "'Cause that's not a thing if that's what you're thinkin' I promise."

"What? Oh no. No no no. That's so . . . definitely not what I meant," Shirota assured. "Actually I was curious about the gang."

"In that case, what do you want to know?"

"Why did you join up?"

"Daimondai saved my life," Hakushaku said. "I was about your age I think, maybe a little younger, and I ran away from home. My parents, they were a part of our rival gang, the Ozoku, and they were none too pleased with having a kid . . . like me." Hakushaku cleared his throat awkwardly. "Anyway they were not great and they constantly scared the shit out of me, and I never knew what was going to happen to me in that house so I ran away.

"And I lived on the streets for a while, barely scraping by, and I wandered into Midoryu territory by mistake, and your brother found me. He had just become the head of the gang and he . . . I don't know if I'd say he saw something in me except maybe something saw something he could exploit. He hooked me up with a place to stay, and dragon tattoo, and promised I'd never see my parents again, and I never have."

"Don't you ever wonder what happened to them?"

"Not really. They were Ozoku, and you saw how Daimondai's gang feels about that particular group."

"And you're okay with that?"

"It ain't exactly like I got options. Unlike you, I don't have a group of fucking gladiators ready to come bust me out just because I'm sad," Hakushaku said defensively. "I've never been that lucky."

"Why did my brother recruit you?" Shirota asked next. "You said he saw something in you to exploit, what was it?"

"Well, I mentioned my connection to the Ozoku, that was something," Hakushaku leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest awkwardly. "Ain't often you run across a kid who hates your enemy as much as you do, but also knows the names and addresses of most of the members. 'Course I had to do initiation same as you; I earned my spot."

"Initiation . . . that's the big, anyone-who-wants-a-crack-at-the-newbie-can-take-one free for all thing, right?" Hakushaku nodded, and Katsura appeared with their food and wished them a pleasant meal. "How'd you fair?"

"Didn't do as well as you did, that's for sure." He laughed as Shirota downed a mouthful of noodles. "I lost a couple matches. I've never been the biggest or the strongest, but I'm no slouch when it comes to strategy. In the end I was deemed 'good enough.' He later learned that I'm a pretty good tail, and he uses me for that a lot. I'm also very good at keeping secrets, so there's that. I think Shiro—er, your brother trusts me as much as anybody."

"What do you mean by 'tail'?"

"You know, tail. following folks around, spying on 'em and that. He had me tail you when you ran away to live with the cabbage patch kid and his family."

"You knew about that?"

"Course I did, but I'm no snitch, and I know what it's like to want to get away from your family." He paused to take a mouthful of ramen. It was good. Shirota picked a good place. After a few moments of quiet slurping, Hakushaku spoke again. "You know you're lucky to have a friend who'll do something like that for you. I never did."

"I'm sorry Hakushaku," Shirota said, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but feeling sorry nonetheless. "All that's happened to you, I can't imagine . . ."

"Yeah you can, that's why you're sorry, but you got nothin' to be sorry for." Hakushaku smiled at him, swallowing a large bite of ramen. "I'm in a comparatively good place now, and I'm doing okay. And uh . . . you can call me Haku if you want, Hakushaku's a mouthful."

"Oh, alright . . ."

"Speakin' of your friends how are they doing? You're on break now, right?"

"Yeah," Shirota smiled as well, glad of the subject change; friends were something he could always talk about. "They're doing pretty well as far as I know. Fumei was complaining about something Ippantekina roped her into over the summer, but Saishuu is excited to finally get to go see his brother's art show in Kyoto, uh, Yukki . . . Korito I think. He's a really good artist."

"Saishuu . . . that's the friend you went to stay with right?" Shirota nodded. "He seems like a good kid. They all do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woulda posted this sooner, but AO3 was being uncharacteristically unresponsive and wouldn't let me post. Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	5. Game time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ippantekina ropes Fumei into a basketball game against two players from another prep school, and Hinata and Marihara challenge each other at video games.

"You don't have a choice Fumei," Ippantekina said. "I helped you with your thing, fought a fucking gang, now it's your turn."

"Why do we have to do this bullshit again?" Fumei asked, fastening her ponytail with a hair tie.

"It's a battle for honor," he answered.

"Oh, so no reason whatso-fucking-ever then, got it." Fumei rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. "Why didn't you just ask your best friend Hinata, isn't he Mr. Sporty?"

"Yeah, but in this particular game, you're better."

"I haven't played since middle school."

"You got your nickname for a reason."

"You have no fucking idea." She finished tying up her long, raven hair and followed Ippantekina onto the court. As soon as her hands were free, he tossed her the basketball. 

"It's a two on two match," he explained. "You and me versus Manuke and Ijime from Kadaru Academy."

"Ugh, you mean that other shithole prep school that isn't the shithole prep school we go to?" She made a face. "So this is the equivalent of two dumbass rich kids waving their limp fucking hands at each other saying 'not the face' and calling it a fistfight."

"Bitch, no. Kadaru has the best basketball team in the city."

"Wow, this is gonna suck balls. We're gonna be fucking annihilated."

"Shut the fuck up Fumei, we're gonna kick ass and send 'em home with their tails between their legs. Now take those stupid sunglasses off or they're gonna get broken."

"Fuck off, Harushit," she grumbled.

"Oh wow, if it isn't little Ippi-chan!" The Paradise High students turned their heads toward the new voice to see two boys, both of them easily six feet tall, probably taller, walking towards the court, clad in workout gear.

Fumei snorted. "Ippi-chan?" Ippantekina scowled.

"Oh wow," said the slightly taller of the two, the bottle-blond with darkening roots who had spoken before. "I was afraid he might bring someone who was actually _good_ at basketball, but he brought his _girlfriend_ instead! Oh wow, she's even smaller than he is!"

"Listen assface, I'm not his girlfriend! And stop talking shit about us like we're not here!" Fumei said. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"

"Oh wow, my apologies!" the blond said, and that stupid 'oh wow' thing of his was already grinding on Fumei's nerves like heavy-grain sandpaper. "I'm Ijime, and this is Manuke." He gestured to his friend with black bedhead and a wretched orange t-shirt who hadn't said a word yet. "And you are?"

"Nunna your goddamn business you arrogant prick," she leered.

"Oh wow, that was rude of her." Ijime looked at his friend who did nothing to respond. 

"Oi! I thought I said to stop talking like we're not here!" 

"You see why this challenge was worth it?" Ippantekina said smugly.

"I was ready to botch this bullshit and make you look bad—" Ippantekina gasped, offended— "but now I want to grind this fucker into a bloody pulp. I guess crushing his heart and soul to hell in this match with have to suffice."

"That's what I like to hear." If Fumei was actually going to try, Ippantekina felt sure they had this game in the bag. "Alright, standard rules apply. We've got the whole court, so we may as well use it. We play to twenty one points, winner has to be at least two points ahead. We're not playing with modified scores for female players. No time limit. No time outs. Players own up to their own fouls. Understood?"

"Oh wow, he does know how to play." Contempt poisoned Ijime's dazzling smile, the asshole was probably his school heartthrob or some shit, he sure acted like he fancied himself as much. "Yeah that works for us, but we don't mind giving your girlfriend the modified scores. It's not like she'll actually take any, anyway."

"Don't insult me, Sasquatch," Fumei snarled.

"Oh wow, if you insist," Ijime said, looking down his nose at her, "I guess it doesn't matter if your baskets are worth an extra point since you won't make any anyway."

"Say 'oh wow' one more goddamn time and I'll rip your rotten shit-stained teeth out one by one you overgrown—"

"Fumei, you wanna do the coin flip?" Ippantekina interrupted, passing her a five yen coin.

"Why the hell not," she turned to the Kadaru academy boys. "Heads or tails, fuckfaces, call it in the air." She flipped the coin.

"Heads." It landed in her hand and they looked at it.

"Heads," she said and tossed them the ball, pocketing Ippantekina's coin. "Shit, I'm a terrible blocker."

"Really? I never would have guessed that you, a ten pound, four foot girl, would be a terrible blocker."

"Screw you! I weigh more than ten pounds!"

"Whatever featherweight."

The Kadaru boys started, predictably, by dribbling past Fumei, who made no attempt to stop them, since she knew it would only result in physical injury for her. As Ippantekina ran over to stop him, Ijime passed the ball to Manuke, who threw for the basket. None of them were expecting Fumei, whom they'd been ignoring since they blew past her, to leap towards the ball, grab it at the apex of it arc, and toss it right into the waiting hands of Ippantekina at the three-point line on the other side of the court.

He made the shot before the other team could even try to block him, bouncing the ball off the backboard and the rim, but ultimately scoring his team three points.

"What the hell‽" Ijime snarled.

"She's the worst defender I've ever seen, but Fumei is an excellent intercepter." Ippantekina said with a smirk, catching the ball and passing it to her. "That's what you get for underestimating us."

"That's gotta be a foul of some kind, no human being can do that," Ijime complained. An instant later, he was met with a basketball to the groin, and looked over, wincing violently, to see a scowling Fumei.

"Your ball," she sneered.

—

"Stop bumping into me," Marihara said as Hinata, in his wild leaning, almost caused her to drive off the track for the fifth time in the last half-hour.

"How can you even play this game sitting still like that?" Hinata demanded.

"Better than you." Marihara smirked and passed the finish line in first place while Hinata hit a banana peel and fell back to sixth.

"You know what, you have an unfair advantage at Mario Kart!"

"How so?" she asked, humoring him. She put down her controller and leaned back on her hands, smiling at him condescendingly.

"Because you—um . . . because of science, okay!"

"Well if _science_ says so, then I suppose we'll have to play another game," Marihara said, taking the game out of the console and passing it to Hinata to put away. He was, surprisingly, very particular about the organization of his video games. "What was that new one you got? The one that just came out? Life . . . fight . . . something?"

" _Fight for your Life_?" Hinata guessed, pulling it out of his box of games. "I've played it a couple of times, but I haven't done multiplayer yet."

"I didn't see any ads for it when it came out. Is it good?"

"Oh yeah. They didn't put a _lot_ of story in it, since it's just the first edition, but it takes place in a post-apocalyptic wasteland and there are a bunch of cool playable characters to choose, and basically you just fight everything you see, and If you die then you have to start from scratch because there's no in-game save points. Thankfully it does save your progress when you stop playing though. I was kinda worried about that when I bought it."

"Sounds like a lot of senseless violence with no real reward," Marihara noted, nodding. "Awesome. Let's play."

"Yeah!" He passed it to her to put in the console and they grabbed their controllers and waited while the startup music began to play. Hinata, being player 1, selected "Multiplayer: Infinite Murder Mode" and they picked their characters. He chose Dennis Cool, a grimy but ruggedly handsome dude with cool spiky hair, cool sunglasses, and cool weapons holsters strapped to like every part of his body. Marihara picked Garbage Gretta, who wore grungy black and gray, with oil slick pigtails, a baseball bat with nails hammered through it, a machine gun duct taped to her dirty purple backpack, and a shit-eating grin.

They played a round of fighting off zombies and trash golems and, and whatever other crazy creatures the creators saw fit to put in this nightmare game. Marihara didn't take long to get used to the controls, and after a while of playing cooperatively, Marihara brought up the kill counter at the bottom of each screen.

"Why does it keep track of how many enemies you kill?" she asked.

"I don't know. I think it's just bragging rights. It doesn't say anything about it in official content, and so far, no one online seems to know. Although, I'll be honest, I haven't looked into it since I first got the game." He threw a grenade at a group of octopi carrying eight guns each, blasting them into pieces. "This game is a fucking disaster, I love it."

"I'm guessing also copyright infringement," Marihara said, shooting a pixilated Minecraft creeper and causing it to explode and kill the sentient plant monsters behind it. "But anyway, I was thinking there's something we could use the kill counters for."

"What's that?"

"First to five hundred kills? Loser pays for the snack run?" Marihara proposed. Hinata glanced at their kill counts; currently he had 153 and she had 149. Four kills wasn't a big enough difference to really give him a head start so it was basically fair.

"You're on," he said, and they began murdering every bonkers beast around their characters brutally and indiscriminately, as you do. They played for more than two hours, and by the time Marihara reached five hundred and won their bet, they were due for a snack run.

"Boo-yah!"

"Geek!" Hinata complained. "How did you beat me by ninety-two kills, you monster‽" 

"I just stood slightly behind you and aimed for the monsters that were heading into your warpath so they were dead before you could get to them."

"That—" Hinata couldn't think of anything to say to that. They hadn't established any rules aside from 'get to five hundred kills as fast as possible.' "Fuck you, strategy witch."

"Thank you." She stood up and straightened her shirt. "Now grab your wallet. snacks are on you, remember?"

"Why do I keep letting you trick me into these things?" he grumbled as they walked to the door an put their shoes on.

"Based on my observations and deductive reasoning, I'd say it's a combination of naïveté and the societally cultivated masculine tendency to assert dominance over females," Marihara told him. "Which can be dangerous without an outlet, so let's just say I'm glad you're a big gamer. Although considering how long we've been friends, you really should know better by now, so maybe you're just stupid."

"Gee, thanks, truly your motherly instincts must have kicked in early.~"

"Shut up!" 

—

The score was 19 to 9 with Paradise High in the lead.

"One more score Fumei, can you dunk it?" Ippantekina muttered to her as they got into position.

"Yes, let's get this shit over with." The moment their opponents started moving, she crossed to the other side of the court and tried to stay open while she waited for Ippantekina to get his hands on the ball and pass it to her. Finally he ducked under Manuke's arm and snatched the ball, dribbling a few feet away and keeping it away from Ijime until he had a window to pass it to Fumei.

Ijime and Manuke chased the ball, but Fumei got it first, dribbled it to the basket and when she got there, she jumped straight up, folding her knees to get her feet out of reach of her opponents, and slam-dunked the ball, scoring the last two points they needed to win.

"Take that you pretentious Kadaru motherfuckers!" Ippantekina shouted. Fumei dropped down from where she was hanging on the rim of the basketball hoop.

"Oh wow," Fumei mocked. "They lost by twelve points, that's pretty fucking pathetic. I thought these guys were supposed to be the best, but they just got ignominiously demolished by two people who aren't even in our school's fucking basketball club."

"We're still here!" Ijime snapped.

"Yeah, doesn't feel so good does it you silver-spoon-ass bastard," Fumei said. "Eat shit and die."

"I don't like her," Manuke said, completely deadpan. Wiping sweat off his face with that god-awful orange t-shirt he was wearing.

"Yeah, nobody likes her, but she's damn good at basketball, and she beat your sorry asses, so pony up." Fumei glanced over from where she was brushing out her hair with her fingers when she heard that. "I want it back."

"Fine." Ijime scowled, but walked over to his sports bag on the side of the court and pulled out a leather-bound journal, tossing it at Ippantekina haphazardly.

"Hey! Watch it!" Ippantekia yelled in protest as he caught it.

"Oh wow. Who cares! Come on, Manukkun, let's go." Manuke nodded and followed Ijime away. Ippantekina glowered at their backs as they left, but then he just sighed and looked down at the journal, smoothing the cover down almost reverently.

"What happened to 'a battle for honor'?" Fumei asked, crossing her arms.

"Okay, so it was more of a battle for my stolen personal belongings."

"Actually it was more of a fucking _massacre_ for your stolen personal belongings." Fumei could resist one more jab about their overwhelming victory. It had been so long since she'd had the chance. "Why didn't you tell me the real reason you were doing this?"

"Why should I? It's not like we're friends. Why should you care about a dusty old notebook, anyway?"

"Obviously it's not just a dusty old notebook. So what is it to you? Personal journal? Family heirloom? Treasure map? Research on alien life-forms?"

"I don't owe you my fucking life story just because you helped me beat a couple assholes at basketball, Fumei-kun."

"Fuck, okay. Congrats on getting your book back, dickhead. I'm fucking out." Fumei walked away, considering whether or not it was too early to stop for dinner on her way home, trying to remember if Aunt Mae was planning to cook something.

Ippantekina stayed there a moment longer, changing from his sport shoes to his regular shoes. He was glad he'd managed to get Fumei to help him. He wasn't sure Hinata would have managed to beat the Kadaru guys, let alone that completely, and this journal was important to him.

It had belonged to his grandfather, who used it to write messages to his loved ones before he died, and then his father used the remaining blank pages to write messages to Ippantekina when he had cancer six years ago. Now it was the most meaningful thing Ippantekina had from his father, and he hated himself for letting those assholes even find out about it, and worse, take it from him. But he had it back now, and that mattered more.

He slipped it carefully into his sports bag and began his trip home for a much needed shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about basketball or video games, so if I got something wrong please let me know so I can fix it. Thanks! Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	6. Contest time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fukara enters a video into a short film festival, and Ken accidentally wins a cooking contest he didn't know was even happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a couple of continuity errors. I tried to work this together the best I could, but I may have made mistakes. I'm only human, and I will absolutely fix it when eventually I go through and do a complete content edit of this series.

"And the winner is . . ." the announcer paused for dramatic effect, his sparkly blue suit glinting in the stage lights as he easily slid the card out of the envelope. His already bright smile doubled in size as he looked at the name and finally read it out loud. "Kida Fukara!"

Fukara stood up, his own glittery suit dazzling in the spotlight, and a cacophony of cheers and applause echoing off the great vaulted ceilings as he walked down the aisle to the stage, waving and blowing kisses at the adoring audience. "Thank you. Thank you! I'm so honored to receive this award. So touched. Thank you."

"Kidaaa!" He was jerked out of his dream by the sound of his mother hollering at him. "I thought I told you to take the garbage out last night! Now get your butt out of bed and come deal with it!" He sighed heavily and rolled out of bed reluctantly.

"Coming mom!" he called to her.

He stayed in bed a few minutes more, trying to keep his eyes open, wondering why his bed always felt most comfortable when he was supposed to get out of it, then his mother's screeching voice assaulted his ears again, and he sighed and forced himself out of bed for real. He clambered down the stairs, practically dead on his feet. Once he'd taken out the kitchen garbage, his mother had finished making breakfast, and he sat down across from her to eat it.

"Thanks for the food."

"So what time is that film thing I'm taking you to this afternoon?" she asked him.

"Hm?"

"The movie contest. That's later today, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, the film festival." As if he could have forgotten. He just didn't want to seem too overeager because then his parents might make a big, embarrassing thing out of it, and he couldn't have that. "Submitters are supposed to be there before five thirty I think, and the screening starts at six."

"That should be fun, right?" his mother said, and he nodded, but said nothing, not wanting to risk his cool act. "I wish you would let me watch your video, I'm dying of curiosity."

"You'll see it at the festival with everyone else."

"Oh! Your father's coming too. He'll get there a little later than us with commute traffic, but he promised he'd be there."

"He won't be too busy?"

"He promised he wouldn't work overtime today. I even made him call his boss to ensure that he wouldn't be asked to work overtime today. I sat there while he made the call on speakerphone." She grinned enthusiastically. It seemed that despite his best efforts, his parents still picked up on how much this meant to him. "You so rarely invite us to your things. We hardly ever get to cheer you on like we did when you were little. You're always doing things yourself now—and I'm proud of you for that, for being independent but, I still want to be there to support you sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." God, his mom was so embarrassing sometimes. "I invited you to the film festival."

"You did, and I can't wait to see what you made. I'm sure it'll be amazing."

Fukara scarfed down the rest of his food so as to faster escape his mother and her mortifying mom-ness. He climbed the stairs hurriedly and went right back to his room, back to sleep, or playing games on his laptop, or fleshing out a new script, or something, while he bided his time until the summer film festival that evening.

* * *

"Shoto!" Mr. Ken called to his son behind him. "You were the one who wanted to go to this culinary convention so hurry it up or we'll miss the train!"

"Sorry, I'm coming, I just forgot to grab my toothbrush," Shoto called as he ran to the front door with his bag. They were going to the Japanese National Culinary Convention which was being held in a city about two hours away by bullet train, and were planning to stay the night there and return home the next day.

"Have you eaten?" his father asked.

"Yup," he lied. He told himself he was too excited to eat, and besides, he'd probably get food at the convention anyway, or maybe afterwards. He'd been looking forward to this since his dad had agreed to get tickets. He really wanted to go to culinary school after high school, maybe even study abroad, so until he graduated, he had to do whatever he could to get experiences he could put on his applications. Plus he just really wanted to go, to meet some of the greatest chefs in Japan and hear what they had to say. "Come on, Dad, let's go!" He scampered down the driveway.

"Now hold on, isn't that what I was just saying?" his father joked, following him with a chuckle.

Then they were off. First came the train ride, then they wandered around trying to find their hotel so they could check in and drop off their bags, then once they checked in at the hotel they wandered around some more, looking for the convention center, and finally they were at the registration table at the convention, collecting their wrist bands so they could come and go as necessary, and their schedules.

"Ready Shoto?" Mr. Ken asked his son with a smile.

"Oh yeah. I'm so excited to be here," Shoto said quietly, but with a huge grin.

"Let's check the schedule and see what workshops and things you want to go to," his dad suggested, pulling them out of the way to stop for a moment. He opened his schedule. "Looks like we're a little late, and the first sessions have already started, but the next ones start in about twenty minutes, so that'll give us a little time to figure out where everything is."

"Which is good, because you have a terrible sense of direction," Shoto teased.

"Wow, kid. Knock me down a peg, why don't you?" His father laughed heartily.

"I want to go to this panel—" Shoto pointed it out on the schedule— "'Tips and Tricks for Professional Patisserie'," he read.

"Of course, sounds like fun . . . what's 'patisserie'?"

"It's a confectionary, dad."

"Right, right . . . and . . . a confectionary?"

"Pastry shop." Shoto tried hard not to laugh. "The panel's about making sweet bread and pastries and things. Sugary baking that isn't cake."

" _Ohh_! Yes, let's definitely go to that one." Shoto snorted, unable to hold it in anymore.

* * *

The Fukara parents slipped into the theater only a few minutes before the doors closed. Mr. Fukara had been stuck in traffic until the last second, and his wife had waited for him. They found their seats just as the house-lights went down and the stage lights came up to reveal a man in a sharp, if well-worn, black suit standing in front of a huge white screen.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to the twelfth annual Kadokawa Film Festival," the man said, and the audience applauded. "I am Tokoda, the festival director, here to present you this year's selection. This year, we received over two hundred short film submissions made with various mediums from all over this city and the surrounding area. The only requirements for the films were that they be between two and twenty minutes in length, consist of content appropriate for viewers as young as thirteen, include credits for everyone involved, and be submitted in the proper viewing format. With these relatively loose rules, we received a wide variety of interesting and creative shorts, but we had to whittle it down to the ten best films to show tonight.

"It was a monumental challenge for our panel of film industry professionals to chose the top ten, so I have a list of honorable mentions to read off beforehand of all the excellent filmmakers, who will not be featured today, you can find all of the qualified submissions on our website at Kadokawa Films dot com." He read a list of nearly thirty names, then named every one of the judges, thanking them for their contributions, then he talked about all the other people who worked together to make the film festival possible.

At the end he said, "All these people are also in your programs, along with the names of the winners and their pieces and any further information I didn't get around to. Now without further ado, the Kadokawa Film Festival presents to you our selection of the ten best amateur short films. Thank you." When he was finally done talking and off the stage, the room went completely dark, and the first short film started to play.

The film opened with birds chirping, as the camera panned through cherry blossoms and credits rolled over them. A title card declared _Love is Blind_. It told the story of a girl who who could not see, until a tricky fox spirit granted her sight, but took her heart in exchange so she could not love. Then of course she felt cheated, and sought to take her heart back, along the way she gained the help of a boy who was secretly a spirit as well, and in the end, he fell in love with her, and helped her get her heart back, but she lost her new sight. And it was worth it because love conquers all, and they lived happily ever after.

The story was simple and generic, derived from old legends they'd all heard before, and the film aspects were nothing special, but what made it interesting was that the whole thing was told without any words, and yet still every action and event was clear. The audience felt every emotion in the actors' expressive movements and faces, they heard the tension and anger in the music.

The second film was an animation called _Robot_. A dark comedy about a boy living in a post apocalyptic world after the robot uprising. He fixed up old and destroyed robots, taking away their free will, and making them serve him as his slaves in the ruins of a mansion he'd laid claim to. But he got mean and cocky, and the robots he repaired regained their free will and rose against him like they had when the apocalypse first happened, forcing him to be _their_ slave, and fix them when they broke until he was old and grey. And when he died, they fixed _him_ , downloading his consciousness into a robot so he became what he most despised.

The short was fast paced, it would have to be considering it was only ten minutes long. The animation was very stylistic, drawing design elements from western and slavic animation. Some sequences were smooth as butter, but the tenser the scene, the jerkier the movements got, showing the character's anxiety. Possibly the most impressive thing was that the film was made almost entirely by one person, who did all the animation and writing, and all of the robotic voices, though apparently he had someone else helping pay for the software and voicing the main character.

And the series continued, short film after short film, each looked so professional it was hard to believe they were done by high school students. After a little more than two hours, the seventh short film ended, and they hadn't seen Fukara Kida in the credits of any of the films thus far, meaning he had placed in the top three.

The third place film was a four minute claymation entitled _The Folly of Love_ , about a monkey god who fell in love with the moon, but the sun wouldn't let them be together, so the monkey god killed the sun so it would always be night. But all the plants died because they needed the sun, and all the plant eating animals died because they needed the plants, and the carnivores, knowing they would die next, killed the monkey god, set him on fire, and threw him into the sky so he became the new sun. And he could never see the moon again, except during an eclipse when she came to him during the day. 

It was a cute story, and the animation was very clean considering it was claymation, as the credits rolled they revealed the names of twelve people responsible for animating those four minutes over the course of eleven months. Apparently the pure gusto it took to submit a claymation to the contest was enough for them to get top ten, but admittedly, had it been animated in any other way it certainly would not have gotten third place.

The second place film opened with an establishing shot of a decrepit area of town that had been destroyed by a devastating tsunami years before, and then abandoned for safety reasons, rather than rebuilt. The Fukara parents recognized this location, remembered living there when their son was just a baby, before the tsunami hit. The camera moved through the empty streets, past crumbling and desolate homes, to the ground floor of one of the only completely intact buildings: a parking garage. The lights flickered on. The garage was empty, or so it seemed.

"Do you know how hard it is to hack into the city power grid?" a grumbly female voice echoed off the concrete walls, and the camera turned to the left to reveal a small girl with mirrored sunglasses and an outmoded laptop, sitting on a couple cinderblocks with a scowl. "This would be so much easier with Ritsu but . . ." She trailed off, her scowl faltering for a moment before returning full force. "Plus, I think I just committed _another_ felony. Why the hell did I let you guys talk me into this?"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Fumei." A girl with long silver hair and a katana on her back stepped into frame and knelt next to the other girl, back facing the camera. "We all agreed. You can't back out now."

"Not to mention, it's good practice, don't you think?" The shot moved swiftly to a boy with curly green hair and a bright smile. His eyes were closed. So far, none of the actors eyes had been shown. This remained the case until the very end.

The story followed the three main actors in their quest to become spies. They trained with a group of others to accomplish incredible feats. They were taught assassination techniques by an unnamed, blue-haired teacher who played the wise old man very well, despite looking younger than most of his students. They were working up to a mission which required them to infiltrate a top secret mountain base and steal classified documents.

They approached the mountain stealthily by daylight, ran through the trees, up in the branches. All the shots were designed to look like they were being taken secretly, by an unknown cinematographer, hiding in the bushes or elsewhere. An unknown cinematographer who got really creative with the action shots, managing to get right up close to the action and still be invisible.

During the eleventh hour scene, an unnamed villain appeared. He was tall and had flaming red hair, and he was the only actor that the Fukara parents didn't recognize at all. When he appeared, the wise teacher fled into a tree in fear, but the students charged him two by two, trying to fight him and take him down. When finally, two of our heroes went against him, they nearly managed to win, but they failed, getting thrown off the villain, and landing in the dirt. When night fell, they returned again, the villain had left, believing he had won, and the heroes broke into the secret base under cover of darkness. It looked like a classroom.

"So this is it, then." The silver haired girl lead the way into the building with her sword drawn. "This is where they trained our predecessors."

"You mean where they killed our predecessors," Fumei said darkly.

"We don't know that," the green haired boy shot back. He looked around. "It looks so . . . normal. I mean, who would ever guess this place churned out some of the most dangerous people in the world?"

"That's the point, isn't it?" katana girl mused. "What good is a secret base that everyone knows about? What good is a secret base that tells everyone your secrets when you move out?" The camera zoomed in on a sign that said 3-E, then zoomed out again to show the back of the kids' heads as they stared up at it. "So . . . we know that whatever's behind this door could totally kill us, right?"

"Which is why you're going first," Fumei said with obviously false cheer. She pulled a gun out of her jacket, and the boy did the same. Where these kids managed to find such realistic prop guns was anyone's guess. When the door opened, the inside looked just like a regular classroom, except for a strange, black monolith which stood by the window. The kids walked in. The door slammed shut. Artillery materialized from the sides of the monolith. A screen lit up, and none other than the AI Ritsu appeared, wearing heavy tactical gear, and looking more emotionless than anyone had ever seen the peppy character.

"This area is off limits," Ritsu said. "Leave immediately, or be eliminated."

"Ritsu . . ." Fumei pushed between the other two to stand between them and the computer. Gentle music swelled slowly.

"Fumei-chan . . ." Ritsu's mouth opened just a little, and her eyebrows drew together for a moment, before she frowned severely. "You have to leave at once." The protagonists didn't move. "Please," Ritsu sounded almost desperate. "I don't want to hurt you, Fumei-chan." Fumei stepped closer to the machine. She held out a hand and gently touched the screen.

"If you ever cared for me, Ritsu, you'll let me do what I have to." A single tear trailed down Ritsu's face, and then the screen blinked out, the artillery disappeared back into the box.

"I love you," came a whisper from the machine's speaker. Then it was silent for a few beats.

"Let's get what we came here for and get out." Fumei's posture was stiff, but her voice wavered as she stared at the still, dark machine.

"You okay?" the boy asked.

"I said, let's get moving." Fumei turned. "I don't want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary." The other two immediately got to work searching the room, katana girl sheathing her sword. It was in a drawer of the teacher's desk that they finally found something.

"Is this . . . a yearbook?" the boy wondered, lifting a huge book onto the desk with a thud and opening it. There was a slow scraping noise as the door slid open and the kids gasped. Standing in the doorway was the unnamed villain, hands in his pockets, stone-faced, hair obscuring his eyes.

"Yes," the man said. "Illegal memories of experiences that no longer exist, that were sealed away because of the danger they posed. You shouldn't have that."

"If we have to fight you for it, we will," the silver-haired girl said, redrawing her sword with a smooth movement and a sharp sound. "But we came here for one thing, and we're not leaving without it." The man took a deep breath and sighed, watching the children thoughtfully.

"You know what?" he said and stepped back, away from the doorway so as to allow the kids to pass him. "Take it. It's about time these secrets be brought into the light. Just promise you won't let everything that happened here be buried again." The kids nodded. They grabbed the book and made their way cautiously past him, weapons drawn and at the ready.

The film ended with the three of them sprinting down the mountain as a song played and the title card was overlaid as the camera watched them get further and further away. _Lessons Learned_. The credits played over rapidly cycled images of Fumei's eyes—the first clear shot of any character's eyes in the whole short—which were edited to match whatever color the sky was in the shot (or so it seemed).

The film was a technical beauty of filmmaking. The stunts were incredible, and you never saw any wires. The shots were interesting and creative, the editing was masterful, and the twist ending was foreshadowed just well enough to not feel cheap. The dialogue could have used a little work, but the Fukaras were just impressed that Kida had managed to keep Fumei from saying a single cuss word the whole time. The piece also alluded to a longer backstory and a more extended world while still being an enjoyable, self-contained story. And Mr. and Mrs. Fukara couldn't have been more proud if their son had won first.

The first place video was entitled _The Crescent Moon Conspiracy_ , and it was a documentary about a possible explanation for how and why the moon was destroyed more than seven years previously. It was one of only two non-fiction films to make top ten (the other being about a stray cat which the creator strapped a camera to that happened to be friends with a gang member). It used footage that had never been shown to the public, which the creator had gotten from news outlets who said they were banned from showing the footage at the time, and included interviews with a low-level government employee, and a young man who claimed to have the whole story, but asked to remain anonymous. All the faces were blurred out to protect people's identities.

It most likely won because of the obvious research and resourcefulness that went into making it, all the connections the students must have made and all the hoops they must have jumped through to get their information. It was basically a visual essay and the technical aspects were nothing exceptional, but the content was what made it the winner. Everything was fact-checked as well as it could be, and the students fit all of their information into their conclusion.

The film theorized that the moon was destroyed by a top secret experiment made by enemies of Japan, most likely the Chinese, who issued an ultimatum to the Japanese government which was kept hidden from citizens so as not to incite panic. A segment of the Japanese government, which the film supposed was either the Ministry of Defense or the Kenpeitai, formed a squad of elite agents to steal the experiment and all of the research relating to it and destroy it. This was risky because the Chinese were apparently using a class of middle school kids as hostages to manipulate the Japanese. The operation was successful and the kids were saved before their enemies could retaliate.

There had been hundreds of theories about the moon, none of which could be definitively proven, but this seemed to have significantly more evidence than most. So even though it was an old subject, it still managed to win the first place slot.

Once the final film was over, the man strolled back onstage with his microphone and thanked them all for coming, and thanked all the contestants, and all the winners, and all the judges, and everyone else who made the festival possible. Again. Then reminded them that they could find most of the qualified submissions on their website, and that DVDs of the top ten winners with optional commentary by the judges were available to buy in the lobby. As the lights came up and the audience filed out of the theater, the Fukaras kept an eye out for their son, who had been sitting in the reserved seating with the other winners.

"Kida!" His mother called when she caught sight of him. He smiled at her as they made their way to each other. "Kida, that was amazing!" She pulled him into a tight hug, and when she let go, his father did the same.

"It really was, son," he said. "Where did you get those props, did you make them? The box with Ritsu at the end was so cool."

"We made some of them, yes, others we found," Kida said, unable to suppress his smile. "I still can't believe some of the stuff we talked Fumei into, especially for that last scene. I seriously thought she was gonna shoot me when I suggested it, but Ritsu was super excited about it."

"Yeah, how did you get a phone app to do your film?" his dad asked.

"She's not a phone app, she's an AI, and she's like crazy sophisticated. I didn't even realize how advanced Ritsu was until I saw Fumei interact with her, because they're like best friends. It's really really weird."

"Wow. And who was that guy you had playing the bad guy?" his mother asked. "I didn't recognize him, but he was _cute_."

"Ew, _mom_!" Kida scrunched his face up in disgust. "He's like half your age." His mother pressed her lips together and looked away with a shrug, and his father frowned for a moment. "His name's Karma, and he's Nagisa-sensei's friend. He chaperoned the class trip, which was where I got all the mountain footage. He's super cool."

"Well, we're definitely buying one of these DVDs," his mother said. "I can't wait to see what the judges had to say about it."

"When I introduced myself to them earlier, they complimented me on my special effects, they told me they were impressed by the stunts too, and how realistic they looked, like the actors were actually doing them," Kida said as they got in line to buy the DVD. "They seemed really surprised when I told them the actors really were doing the stunts and I just have freaky athletic friends."

He laughed, and his parents looked at him quizzically, recalling a shot where Fumei jumped nearly six feet straight up into a tree which they assumed had been done with some sort of pulley. Surely not all the stunts were done live. He was just generalizing. He had to be . . . right?

* * *

"What's this then?" Mr. Ken asked, pointing to what looked like a sign up sheet. A woman with a bright purple shirt which identified her as a conference volunteer walked over to explain.

"Oh, that's where attendees can sign up for the cook-off. They all make the same dish, and it gets tasted by professional food critics who give them feedback and rate them on various categories."

Mr. Ken still wasn't entirely sure what a 'cook-off' was, but it sounded like something Shoto might be interested in. "What's the dish?" he asked her.

"Okonomiyaki," she said.

_As you like it?_ he thought. _So the attendees pick a dish? Shoto could do that, I'm sure. I'll sign him up._ He wrote down _Ken_ _Shoto_ on the sign up sheet, and went over to tell his son about it.

"Shoto, I signed you up for a cooking thing," he said, walking over to the table where his son was looking at left handed cooking utensils. He had left-handed versions of the ones he used most often, but he'd been thinking of getting a left handed meat-hook for cook-outs.

"'A cooking thing'?" he repeated. "That's very unspecific. Dad, we're at a cooking convention. What exactly did you sign me up for?"

"A cook . . . up? I think? The lady said you make whatever you want, and then they have judges taste it and give you critiques."

"'Whatever you want'? Wait, what did she say exactly?"

"She said 'okonomiyaki,' that means 'as you like it'."

"Dad . . . no . . ." Shoto sighed. "Okonomiyaki is basically a savory pancake. I've made them for you before."

"Oh . . . I knew that." Shoto laughed. "Still, I thought it would be cool for you to get feedback from professional foodies . . . should I take your name off the sign-up sheet?"

"Nah, it sounds like fun. Where is it?"

Mr. Ken's eyes widened and he realized he'd completely forgotten to ask where the cook-up was being held. "Uuuhhh . . . Excuse me, miss?"

After asking two different volunteers where they were supposed to be going, the ended up in a large industrial kitchen with several cooking stations set up. A man wearing a bright purple shirt came up to them as they entered the room.

"Hey, are you here for the cook-off?" he asked with a smile and a polite bow, which they returned.

"Yes," Mr. Ken said. "I signed my son here up, he's really good at this stuff."

"Is he now," the man tried not to look skeptical, but Shoto couldn't blame him. Every parent thought their kid was a good cook, or artist, or singer, or whatever, and his dad was hardly an expert in the field. "Well, then I'm sure he'll do very well. Have you ever made okonomiyaki before?"

"Yes, although not recently," Shoto admitted. He had worked really hard to perfect it for about a month and a half the year before, but he couldn't remember making it at all since then. He usually practiced a dish until he got it just right about five times, then moved on to the next dish, only looking back when he needed to.

"Well why don't you pick a cooking station?" the man said, gesturing to the room. Two stations were occupied, but the rest were free. "We're going to be introducing our judges in just a few minutes, and then we'll get started."

"Great." Shoto said, and started toward a station in the back, before he remembered something. "Wait. I don't suppose any of these have left handed utensils?"

"Oh . . . I don't think so, I'm sorry," the man said. "Will that be a problem?"

"No, I had to cook backwards for a long time before mom believed that I was serious enough about it to get me left handed tools, so I'll be fine. I just thought I'd ask." Both him and his father were lefties, not that his father did much cooking, or any at all really.

A few minutes later, and there were seven cooking stations occupied, a few by pairs, a few by single people, and the man in the purple shirt was leading four people to sit at the table in the front of the room where name cards had been stood up in front of their seats.

One was a man in a very expensive looking suit with a very expensive looking scarf. This man was a traditional food critic called Sozai Gensen, who did reviews for a very famous culinary magazine.

Then there was a man named Jitsuyo Teki who was the sous chef at one of the most upscale restaurants in Kyoto. He was also wearing a nice suit, with a navy blue vest, but no jacket.

The third person at the table was a woman named Misa Kuu, who wore a bubblegum pink dress and sky blue leggings that matched her lipstick and hair respectively. She ran a pretty popular YouTube channel about cooking where she ate people's food and gave them tips for how to improve, and then they got to test her tips. She also taught at a culinary school in Nagano.

Finally there was a guy in pretty casual clothes, a black jacket over red hoodie and jeans, named Yuji Norita. He was a very reputable international food blogger who had been doing it since he was in his early teens.

Shoto hadn't expected them all to be _famous_ professionals. He'd been expecting people who reviewed restaurants for local newspapers or something.

"Alright everybody, welcome to the cook-off!" called the man in the purple shirt. "It looks like all our contestants are here, so why don't our judges introduce themselves, and then the dish, and then you can get cooking!"

_Wait cook_ - _off?_ Shoto thought. _Contestants? As in, competitive cooking? As in comparing my cooking to these people's cooking? They're adults! They have way more experience! I haven't cooked okonomiyaki in a long time! What if I screw up? Why would Dad sign me up for a cooking contest? I'm terrible at contests!_

While Shoto freaked out internally, the judges introduced themselves, just as he had recognized them. Then they talked a little about the dish the contestants would be cooking while the ingredients were passed out. Finally, Mr. Norita smiled and said, loud enough for even Shoto to notice, "Let's get started, shall we?" And suddenly, with just those five, oh so familiar words, Shoto's internal freak-out ended, and he was ready. What good was all that assassination training if he couldn't perform under pressure?

_Channel that nervous energy into quick movements_ , Nagisa-sensei would tell him. _Every skill is a weapon, so use them_.

Shoto pulled out a cutting board and began shredding cabbage and chopping up octopus and beef to be marinated and cooked into the dish. He mixed together flour, eggs, and a few extra spices he remembered liking when he'd tested them before. He greased the pan, and precooked the beef just a bit so it didn't end up too rare—he'd made that mistake before.

"Anything I can do?" his father offered, and Shoto looked up, startled. He flashed back to the last time he'd let his father help.

"Yeeaah," he said slowly, then pushed his father a few more steps back from the counter. "Stand there, silently, and touch nothing."

"But—"

"You're helping by not helping," Shoto cut him off. "Remember the rice cooker?"

"Ah . . . you're probably right, then. I'll just . . . You know maybe I'll take a few more steps back." Shoto chuckled as his dad did just that.

His father was always _impressed_ by his cooking, but he didn't understand it even a little bit. The man had never cooked for himself in his life. His mother cooked for him until he got married and then his wife cooked for him. He was by no means ungrateful for this, both his mother and his wife were excellent cooks, and he always made sure they knew how much he appreciated them, but that didn't make him less useless in the kitchen.

Shoto finished cooking up his dish, and put them on a warmer while he made the sauce, flipping them occasionally so they would cook too much more. Instead of using regular ketchup, he mixed up the ingredients himself, leaving out some of the less desirable things.

He'd always thought ketchup made the sauce just a little too sweet, especially with the added sugar. However, since he didn't use ketchup, it took him much longer to mix the sauce to the right consistency. He finished with just enough time to plate the okonomiyaki, and drizzle the sauce over each of them.

"Alright folks," The volunteer called. "Finishing touches, and then I'll call all of you to present your dishes in the order you signed up."

As it turned out Mr. Ken had signed up pretty last minute, and the judges went through all six versions of the dish done by the other contestants before Shoto was called. The notes from the judges were a lot of the same, Mr. Gensen even remarked that many of them tasted very similar to each other, without uniqueness.

Miss Kuu gave the most helpful suggestions, he thought. He had learned a lot of what she was saying through trial and error, and he wished he'd had someone who could give him such specific pointers when he was just starting out.

Mr. Teki tended to remark on whether or not the recipes would fly in a restaurant environment. He told the second person that it was good enough for a home cooked meal, but people would expect higher quality if they were paying for it, and he told the sixth that it was a good, inoffensive, restaurant quality dish.

Mr. Norita had apparently been paying attention while they were cooking, Shoto had even noticed him wandering around a bit, silently observing, and he asked about choices they had made during the process, and remarked on the actual flavor of the dishes rather than whether or not they were exceptionally high quality.

When finally Shoto's name was called, he took two plates, and his father took the other two, and together they carried them up to the judges table, setting them before the critics. Shoto made sure Mr. Gensen got the one he thought turned out best, because he was definitely the harshest judge.

"So did you use octopus or beef?" Miss Kuu asked, smiling, her pink lipstick miraculously un-smudged.

"Oh, I combined the two, a little bit of both," Shoto said, feeling suddenly like maybe that wasn't allowed, and he had broken some rule or another. Her and two of the other judges showed some surprise at that—Mr. Norita had seen him do it—but none of them were telling him that was against the rules, not that that made him less anxious.

"Interesting," Mr. Gensen said. "I've never had it like that before, how unique." And from his tone of voice, Shoto couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing.

"Yes, I can't wait to try it," Mr. Teki carved off a bite-sized piece. "I don't think you could get away with something like that at a restaurant. Totally new things are big sellers, but new takes on classic things rarely go over well. With classic dishes people want what they're used to, and don't like to be surprised."

"People are small-minded and simple," Mr. Gensen said, and Mr. Teki laughed good-naturedly.

"Can't argue with you there," he said.

"I noticed you didn't use your cooking assistant at all," Mr. Norita noted. "He just stood out of arms reach the whole time. Is there a reason for that?"

"Oh . . . yeah, last time Dad helped me cook we had to buy a new rice cooker," Shoto explained awkwardly, shifting his feet and looking at the table instead of the judges. "He's mostly here for moral support and to crack jokes."

"Guilty," his father said, shrugging.

"I see, and is there a reason you made the sauce harder on yourself by not using ketchup?" he asked.

"Um . . . personal preference?" he offered uncertainly. "I don't really like ketchup. It's too sweet, I think, and it has a ton of carbs and preservatives and some really just . . . junk I guess, in it, so if I have the ingredients to replace it, I always will."

"Well I do appreciate the consideration of healthiness and organic ingredients," Mr. Norita said.

"Alright enough chatter, I want to try it!" Miss Kuu said, and they all were silent for a few moments, brought their forks to their mouths, and tasted it. "Mmm," Miss Kuu hummed almost immediately. "This sauce really tastes richer than usual. It's still tangy, but there's no like, metallic, sticky aftertaste. I don't know if that makes any sense." She laughed for a moment, then cut off another bite.

"It's a very distinct flavor," Mr. Gensen said when he'd finished rolling the bite around in his mouth. "The texture is the same, soft and spongy with tender meat, which we're all familiar with, and that's interesting because octopus tends to be tough and bland, but it's got that almost lobster-like texture that's hard to get. And it's got a bit of a salty zing to it as well."

"Yes, I noticed that," Mr. Teki said. "It's really striking, especially in contrast with the rich savory flavors of the beef. And he's right you really got the texture down, this would definitely be restaurant quality. As long as you could do it reliably, of course, which is always the challenge." He laughed.

"The flavor is excellent," Mr. Norita said. "Each individual piece has it's own distinct flavor, but they all compliment each other so well that it just comes together beautifully. It's really well balanced, and tasting this is like watching a dance or a fight scene or something. Just when I was thinking the sauce was too tangy, the bread softened it, and just as I was thinking it was too soft, I got the tenderness of the meat."

"You know, if you put your marinade in a blender and mix it thoroughly before you pour it over your meat, you end up with a much more even spread," Miss Kuu told him. "Then you let it marinate overnight so it can soak up all the flavors—obviously you didn't have time to do that here, haha, but you know, if you ever wanted to try it.

"It makes it so you never end up with meat that's like, partially marinated or something. You know when one part has too much salt, and the other part's too dry? My students run into that all the time. I learned that trick from a butcher in America actually, and it's super useful."

"I'd never heard of that, but I'll definitely try it out sometime," Shoto said.

"I'm really impressed that you managed to do so so well with your off hand," Mr. Norita said. "That's a skill in and of itself." Shoto froze.

"How . . . how did you know I was left-handed?" he asked. He wasn't sure quite why, but he felt exposed, or called out, like he was somehow guilty of something.

"I noticed you tried to stir with your left hand once and got frustrated because these are angled spoons, and when I mentioned it to Maku here," he nodded to the man in the purple shirt, "he said you asked about left-handed utensils earlier, but there weren't any. You deserve major kudos for that."

"Oh . . . thank you."

"And now the judges will discuss with each other to decide on a winner," said the man in the purple shirt—Maku. And the four critics stood up and filed out to talk in private.

"I think you've got this kid," Mr. Ken told his son.

"They said plenty of positive things about the other ones too, dad."

"Yeah, but they said plenty of negative things, too."

"That doesn't mean I'll win."

It was barely five minutes later when the judges reentered, and stood behind the table, all stiff and official-like.

"It was unique," Mr. Gensen announced.

"It had restaurant quality and home creativity," Mr. Teki added.

"It reflected both skill and practice," Miss Kuu input.

"It was flavorful, and well-balanced," Mr. Norita finished. "And it reminded me of something a friend of mine told me some time ago, 'in the right light, our flaws become weapons.'" Shoto had most definitely heard that before. Had they heard it from the same person? "Every negative thing to be said about the dish became a positive thing when paired with another aspect. The winner of this year's cook-off is Ken Shoto."

"Hey! Way to go kid, you did it!" His dad scooped him up into a tight hug, but put him down quickly. "Yipe, kid, when'd you get so bony?" he joked. "Maybe you should eat one of those pancake things." Shoto ignored him, and stepped closer to the table.

"Um . . . Mr. Norita?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Ken-kun?"

"Um . . . where did you hear that quote from? About flaws becoming weapons?"

"Like I said, friend of mine. His name's Nagisa Shiota, but you won't have heard of him. He's not famous or anything."

"I _do_ know him!" Shoto said excitedly. "Nagisa-sensei, he's my teacher."

"Is he now?" Mr. Norita laughed incredulously. "Well that explains it. You've got a similar vibe about you, especially when you were cooking. You seem all anxious, but you really know your stuff."

"Thanks . . . but now I'm curious . . . how did Nagisa-sensei become friends with a famous food blogger like you?"

"Oh well, we met . . ." Mr. Norita's face reddened, and he cleared his throat. "We met at a party in Okinawa when we were both on vacation from school, and . . . that's it, that's the end of the story."

"You kept in touch after one party?"

"Yep," Mr. Norita said. "Met at a party. He convinced me to quit smoking, and after that we traded numbers and decided to keep in touch." He was lying. His body language and expression hid it well, but by how vague and insistent he was being, Shoto could tell he was lying. But he also knew how to leave well enough alone.

"You know it's funny how many totally different people Nagisa-sensei seems to know," Shoto said. "He's like a networking master or something."

"Heh. Nagisa always makes an impression. He's just one of those people." Mr. Norita shrugged, then pulled out a business card from his jacket pocket. "Hey, congrats of your win. Here's my card. Call me sometime, yeah? Maybe if you need a letter of recommendation or something?"

"Seriously?" He nodded with a grin. "I so will. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome. And uh. I think some of the others wanted to give you a card too, so I'd go collect if I were you." Shoto couldn't remember the last time he'd been so excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is as long as, like, three chapters, the next one is also this long, heh heh heh..... I'll upload it later today or tomorrow probably, not sure which, maybe it'll be six months from now, hopefully not, but you never know with me. 
> 
> I have never made okonomiyaki in my life, nor have I ever tasted it. Same goes for octopus. I completely BSed my way through the cooking competition with the help of Google. The only thing that was real cooking advice was when Miss Kuu suggests blending the marinade. That is excellent advice and it works super well, and if you want to try it, do. Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	7. Endurance time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Misono gets bitten by a rare venomous tarantula by accident, and Yatoni goes on a road trip and gets trapped in a podunk town when his car breaks down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for arachnophobia. I'll put asterisks (***) at the beginning of paragraphs where the thing is described so you can skip them if that kind of thing bothers you.

Yatoni sighed heavily as he stared out across the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean, the crimson light of the setting sun bleeding into the sea. _Red sky at night, sailor's delight_ , his father's voice said in his head, _we're gonna have nice clear skies and lots of stars_.

Fuck sailors and fuck stars and sunsets and the fucking Pacific Ocean too. They could all go fuck themselves as far as Yatoni cared. He took the rubber band from his wrist and twisted it around his fingers absently. This summer he was finally gonna travel, drive all the way across Japan and back again, and he was two days in, and his engine had broken down outside a middle-of-nowhere fishing town that he hadn't intended to stop in for anything more than _maybe_ gas.

Yatoni sighed again and ran a hand through his dark hair. It was getting greasy. He'd have to find a place to bathe himself soon. He would have sighed a third time, but he stopped himself, deciding that he had already sighed as much as the situation warranted, and once one is done sighing, one looks for a solution.

He looked away from the sunset and back into the open hood of his car. It had the body of an old Nissan Skyline from decades before that he and his father had fished out of a junkyard, but he'd replaced pretty much the whole engine and a lot of the interior about six years before when his dad was teaching him how to work in the family's auto shop. He'd been really excited when his dad finally let him do something other than retrieving parts, since he'd always loved cars. 

It honestly should have crapped out on him a long time ago, considering it was built by a twelve year old, but somehow it had managed to hold together pretty well so far, with only the occasional problem. Now it had stopped smoking, thankfully, but unfortunately, it didn't look like he'd be able to fix the damage with duct tape. It figured he'd have his worst car troubles at the most inconvenient time, in the most inconvenient place.

From what he could tell, he needed a new cylinder head to replace one that appeared to have about half of it broken off completely. It had probably been cracked already and shook loose when he hit a pothole or something. He should probably double-check the coolant system too if the sweet smell he'd caught on the smoke was anything to go by.

Evidently he had put a little too much trust in his car running the way he wanted it to without actually checking under the hood before he left because the broken cylinder head and the coolant leak couldn't _both_ have happened just in the last two days, unless Yatoni's luck was exceptionally bad, which, well, it generally was.

In any case, he had practically built this car from the ground up, and he could _always_ fix her. He just needed to find the right parts. The real problem was he didn't know if he'd have money for the parts, or where he could even find them in a middle-of-nowhere fishing town like this. It would seem he had one more sigh left in him after all as he grabbed the bag out of his passenger seat that had his most important stuff in it, locked his car, closed the hood, and hiked down the road into town.

Once there, he searched for a mechanic or scrapyard or something that might have what he was looking for, and was surprised when not only did he find one almost right away, but it actually appeared to be pretty busy. The little auto shop was called _Chen's Garage_ , and it was indeed just one garage with a room attached to the side for transactions, but Chen's also had its own tow truck parked nearby with the name of the mechanic painted on the door, and there were six cars waiting to be worked on ranging from an old lemon to what looked to be a brand new Porsche.

A small, balding man in greasy coveralls was standing on a step-ladder, peering under the hood of a large pick-up truck parked in the lot. He was muttering to himself in Chinese as he tightened a bolt. Yatoni didn't really understand Chinese except for a few curse words he'd learned in middle school, but he didn't really need to know more than that because curse words made up most of what the man was saying.

"Excuse me." The older man whipped around in alarm and threw his wrench at Yatoni in one swift, fluid movement, and it would have hit the boy in the chest had he not been able to catch it. He silently thanked Nagisa-sensei for all that assassination training which had honed his reflexes so well.

"Nice catch!" He heard a female voice call from behind him. He turned to see a teenaged girl, his age or maybe a bit younger, sitting barefoot and cross-legged in the driver's seat of the purple tow truck next to the garage with the door hanging open. "Let me guess, your car broke down on the cliffside and you need a tow and a fix."

"Ay-yah! Another one?" The older man scowled and climbed off his step-ladder to snatch the wrench back from Yatoni. "Always so busy because of that damn cursed road. We don't have time for you today!"

"I can fix it myself, I just need a new cylinder head, model V6 internal combustion engine, and maybe something for my coolant system; I might just stick duct tape over the leak if it's not too big."

"You know how to fix cars?"

"Yeah."

"Can you fix this?" He pointed to the Porsche, eyes alight with curiosity.

"Pop the hood?" Yatoni requested, taking off his old, brown, leather jacket and walking over to the vehicle, and the man complied. The Porsche was one of their latest models, full of new innovations. The engine was minimalist electric, with an extendable solar panel which could be removed or transported along with the car in a slot on the underside of the hood for emergency charging.

You could tell just by looking at it that it was really advanced, but an engine was still an engine. He fiddled with the wires, the coolant system, the fuses, then he flicked his wrists a few times and turned to the man.

"Yeah, I can fix it," he said. "You got a soldering iron and some copper wire?"

"Yes, what's wrong with it?"

"One of the fuses has a faulty connection which stressed the engine until the onboard computer shut it down for maintenance so the entire thing wouldn't have to be replaced." They were both silent for a moment while the man frowned severely.

"I'll never understand this newfangled technology," he grumbled. "Since when do computers control cars?" 

"Computers have controlled cars for over a decade," Yatoni said, not realizing that it was a rhetorical question. "So, about that cylinder head?"

"Have to special-order it for you, should be a day or two. Give it to you free if you work for me until it comes, plus I'll have Lei-Ling tow your car for no extra charge."

Yatoni looked at the little man, completely deadpan, weighing his options. If the part was going to take time to come, he'd need something to fill that time. Fixing cars was something he was good at, and he enjoyed it, everything from the purr of engines to the smell of motor oil. It wasn't traveling, but then, neither was blowing the rest of his trip money on a hotel room to mope in. It was something to do. He'd still have to find a place to stay, but it was a pretty good deal. "And you are?"

"Han Chen, I own this place. We have a deal or not?"

"Know of any place I can stay while I work here?"

* * *

*** "Dude! Check out this massive spider I found!" Misono said enthusiastically as soon as Ushiwara answered his front door. He pushed his way into the house and set the cardboard shoebox he was carrying onto the nearest table. He lifted the lid slightly and slid it just a few centimeters so Ushiwara could see without letting the creature escape. "He bit me and now I feel like a dead roach, but seriously, how cool is _he_? Isn't he just the most metal son of a bitch you ever saw?"

"I can't tell . . . you know what, I think I have an empty terrarium under my bed, let me grab it." Ushiwara stepped away, and returned a few moments later with a clear plastic box the about the size of a cinderblock. "Can you get it in here, then we can get a proper look."

"Totally." Misono popped the lid off the terrarium, tipped the contents of the shoebox into it, then snapped the lid shut quickly and slid the lock closed. "So I know you're awesome at gardening and insects and stuff, which is why I came to you. I thought you'd be interested, but also I'm losing feeling in my legs and it hurts to breathe so I thought maybe you would know what kind of spider this is and how to counteract the poison."

*** "Venom," Ushiwara corrected, trying to get a good look a the creature, which appeared to be trying to escape, though thankfully it couldn't get the lid open with its hairy, spindly legs. He blew his dust-brown bangs out of his line of vision, but they fell back into place in front of his eyes a moment later.

"What?" Misono crouched down next to his friend with a soft grunt of pain, admiring his gnarly new pet.

"If you bite it and you die then it's poisonous, but _it_ bit _you_ , so it's venomous." Misono quickly snapped his attention away from the creature and to his friend, eyes wide with alarm.

"Am I gonna die?"

*** "Probably not. Tarantula bites can't usually kill you . . ." Ushiwara hesitated for a moment, examining the distinctive rhombus patterns on the creature's legs and the pitch black shade of its underbelly with a niggling sense of recognition, before adding, "although . . . that looks like the Aviculariinae Inaequale. I literally _just_ read an article about it like a day ago, let me see if I can find it."

Misono sighed and plopped down on the sofa with another pained grunt while Ushiwara pulled out his phone, concerned expression unwavering, and looked though his search history to find the article he'd been reading. "Got it. 'The Aviculariinae Inaequale tarantula'—that's redundant—'went missing from a research facility in the city two days ago, where it was on loan from the Jefferson Institute University in the US.' Blah blah blah . . .

"'It was discovered last year in Peru by a pair of American scientists, Jayda Went and Liam Jackson, who named it Freaky Franny. It's the first known tarantula to have venom which can do more than cause significant discomfort to a human. Franny's bite causes a person to be instantaneously unable to move because of the pain, and blackout from agony within an hour. Analyses confirm that her venom could be lethal, but no known deaths have been attributed to this arachnid so far.' Shit dude, how are you still walking around?"

"What do you mean? It says this thing hasn't killed anybody yet."

"It also says it knocks you out within an hour and renders you unable to move," Ushiwara pointed out, mortified by his friend's flippant attitude toward the situation. "Misono, you're a monster."

"You flatter me," Misono said flatly, not feeling particularly flattered.

"I'm serious, man, your endurance is inhuman."

"Are you done calling me a freak of nature yet, because I've been in, like, major pain for the last hour and a half, and I seriously need a Tylenol."

"An hour and a half‽" Ushiwara nearly shouted. "Screw Tylenol, you need to go to the lab that thing came from immediately so they can administer the anti-venom so you don't _die_."

"No, they'll make me give her back, and I want to keep her," Misono refused. "If I give her back they'll just run experiments and stuff. If I have to say goodbye, I'd rather let her be free, out in the wild."

"You can't release her into the wild, she'd be part of an invasive species. Japan doesn't really have tarantulas in nature, so we can't say for sure what affect she would have on the environment if we let her loose. Plus what happens if she bites someone else, and they don't have your endurance?"

*** "So I'll just keep her and take care of her myself," Misono reasoned, his night blue eyes not leaving the creature, which had stopped frantically trying to escape and moved on to pacing the enclosure, sagging low on it's eight legs like it was waiting for the opportunity to leap. "I can keep the cage, right?"

*** "No." He was trying to be patient with Misono, he really was, but Ushiwara wasn't sure how to explain to him that, no matter how punk it would be, Misono just could not keep the _only_ deadly tarantula in human captivity world-wide as a _pet_. "I get that it matches your aesthetic or whatever, but you _cannot_ keep it. That thing is not only _clearly_ aggressive, it's deadly venomous, has already escaped captivity once, and on top of that it's the only captive specimen of a whole new species that scientists have been able to study, and I won't let you roadblock scientific breakthroughs because you want a pet that can and will kill you in your sleep."

"But—"

"No buts!" Ushiwara cut him off before calling to his dad, who was in his office, thoroughly cleaning out his e-mail inbox for the first time in months. "Dad, I've gotta take the car! It's an emergency, probably be a couple of hours! I'll text you if it's longer!"

"OK!" his dad called back while he grabbed the keys, yanked Misono off the couch, and then snatched the terrarium before Misono could take it and run, not that he would get far with Inaequale venom in his system. "Wait, what kind of emergency‽"

"I'll tell you when I get back, but right now I gotta go!" Ushiwara responded, then to Misono said, "Car. Now."

"Alright, alright." Misono climbed into the passenger seat of Mr. Ushiwara's sedan while his friend buckled the terrarium into the backseat and checked the locks before climbing in behind the wheel and putting the address of the research facility into Google Maps. A minute later they began the twenty-three minute drive to keep Misono from being the first casualty of Freaky Franny's venom.

* * *

Yatoni stared out at his sixth sunset since being stranded in this little town, and it was no less beautiful or bittersweet than the first. He was just finishing up his last car of the day, an old Ford that's transmission bummed out. He still didn't have the parts to fix his own car.

"Beautiful sunset, isn't it?" Lei-Ling, Mr. Chen's daughter and tow truck driver, said, trying to make conversation with him once again, as she had been just about every twenty minutes since he climbed into her tow truck—which she'd insisted was not purple, but _lilac_ —to tow his car down the cliffside to the garage. When Yatoni didn't respond, nor even look up at her, she continued. "The sky is so red, but the clouds already have some lilac in them, for the oncoming twilight."

Yatoni still did not respond. To the casual observer, it might look as though he was ignoring the girl, perhaps that he was annoyed by her and waiting for her to get the hint and leave him alone, but the truth was just the opposite. Over the past few days, he had learned many things from Lei-Ling, and about her.

She was exactly eight months and eight days his junior, which she seemed to believe was good luck; she was half Chinese, on her father's side, and half Japanese, on her mother's side, and knew a lot about both cultures and histories; she loved her family, but wanted to move away as soon as she was old enough, to a big city, to see how the other half lives; she loved singing, was a soprano, and had taught herself how to sing using YouTube and videos of Chinese operas that her father liked to play.

Yatoni had also learned that if he simply kept quiet, Lei-Ling would always fill the silence with whatever tidbit came to the front of her brilliantly fascinating mind.

"You know, in Chinese folklore, it says that the gods live in a grand palace in the clouds," she told him, leaning on the side of a minivan parked close by. "But the Tianlong, the celestial dragon, he has to guard the palace to make sure the gods don't fall out of the sky.

"Isn't it funny to think the people who made the universe could just misstep and fall right down to earth by accident?" She laughed, a loud, strangely rhythmic laugh which sounded like heaven to Yatoni's ears, like music.

"Is that almost a smile on the face of the stoic and mysterious Mr. Yatoni?" she gasped sarcastically, and he finally looked away from his work to see Lei-Ling with his own leather jacket practically swallowing her petite frame. He had taken it off when he started working as he always did so it wouldn't get ruined by grease or oil, and apparently she had stolen it from the shotgun seat of his still out-of-commission car while he wasn't paying attention.

"That's my jacket," he said.

"Ah. He speaks! And I had you pegged as the strong, _silent_ type."

"Why are you wearing my jacket?" She merely shrugged at him, and he sighed in resignation. Despite the fact that it was several sizes too large, or perhaps because of that, she did look pretty cute in it. The worn, dark brown complemented her purple—her _lilac_ skinny jeans. Her hair was lilac two, or rather it was black with lilac highlights. "Is lilac your favorite color?" he asked her.

"Yeah, actually. You know, I'm surprised more people don't guess that," she mused. "Up until a couple months ago, my friend Hikari would have sworn up and down that my favorite color was green, so I had to set her straight. I don't know why she thought that. She said I had a 'nemophilist aura.' I had to look that up, it means like, forest or nature lover or something like that, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it."

Yatoni nodded silently. It was pretty obvious to him that she liked the color lilac, but she did also give off a bit of a flower-child vibe.

"Hikari uses a lot of obscure words like that. She writes emo poetry by candlelight in her dusty, spooky attic. I _wish_ I was joking." She hopped up to sit on the hood of the minivan and slid off twice before she finally managed to stay. "The worst part is, it's actually really good poetry. It's got rich imagery and you feel things really viscerally when you read it; it's soul-crushing."

"Are you done yet?" Mr. Chen asked as he approached. Yatoni said nothing as he quickly double checked his work, then, when he was sure, he answered.

"Yes, sir." He wiped his hands on a grease-rag he had hanging over his shoulder, then asked. "Have my parts come yet?"

"Afraid not." Mr. Chen's eye-contact didn't waver, but his hands were fidgeting, and he shifted his weight to the left. He was lying. Yatoni had memorized a long list of behavioral quirks and tells a few years back, and he had already identified which ones were Mr. Chen's. He had noted them when he over over-quoted prices to customers, which happened a lot since he was the only mechanic around and so didn't have any competition.

"When did they get here?" Yatoni asked.

"They haven't come yet." Mr. Chen's eyelids twitched, but he didn't blink. He knew he was caught, but didn't want to admit it. 

"They have. How long have you had them?"

"I don't have them." Mr. Chen shifted his weight slightly to the right, then to the left again.

"I know you're lying to me. You promised me the parts in exchange for labor. I've held up my end, now I'd like to fix my car and be on my way."

"Dad, you made a deal," Lei-Ling said. "Lying or backing out would be dishonorable."

Mr. Chen sighed. "I'll bring the parts to your car, but it's getting dark so maybe you should wait until—"

"I'll be gone before sunrise," Yatoni said, cutting him off. He wasn't angry . . . well he was a little angry, but could you blame him? He'd been working there five days, which was five days longer than he'd planned to stop anywhere along his trip, let alone in a podunk town like this. He'd work by the light of his phone if that's what it came down to. Mr. Chen nodded, then left to retrieve the box of parts he'd been withholding so he could take advantage of Yatoni's free labor.

"I'm sorry about my dad," Lei-Ling said, once the man was gone. "I know he can be a greedy bastard sometimes, but he just wants to have something to pass on to me when I have my own family. You can't blame a man for wanting to provide for his children, right?"

"I'd like my jacket back now."

"Right . . ." she let it slip from her narrow shoulders and handed it to him, then he returned it to its place on the front passenger seat of his car. "I can hold the light for you while you work," she offered, and was met with a side-eyed glance and a muttered acceptance.

A few moments later her father returned with a cardboard box containing a compatible cylinder head and a brand new high temperature hose, along with a few other parts Mr. Chen had noticed that could use replacing.

Yatoni accepted the box with nod, and set to work on his car in the waning, late evening light. It wasn't two minutes before Lei-Ling had a nice, bright light on the engine, at just the right angle to minimize shadows that might get in the way, following his actions smoothly.

It took nearly six hours to finish, but they weren't unpleasant hours. Lei-ling filled the silence with stories and fun-facts and wonderings about the world. She asked Yatoni about himself, but he din't talk much, and she didn't force him. When it started to get too cold, she stole his jacket again.

He came to the realization that he liked Lei-Ling. He wasn't 100% sure _why_ he liked her; he generally wasn't a fan of people who were too talkative, or people who stole his things without asking, but he liked her all the same. He thought he would probably even miss her when he left, but that wouldn't stop him from going.

When Yatoni finally closed the hood of his car at just past 4 in the morning, Lei-ling surprised him by asking if she could come along.

"You can't come with me." He didn't want to hurt her feelings, or make her think she wasn't wanted, but he also knew that there was no way her father would be okay with it, and that he didn't plan on passing through this town on his way back home, or even near it.

"Oh." She frowned. He couldn't see it well because her flashlight was now pointed at the ground and the crumbly, re-forming moon was just a thin crescent in the sky, but he saw it nonetheless. "Could I at least get your phone number?" she asked hopefully.

He smiled. She couldn't see it very well, for the same reasons he could barely see her frown, but she saw it, and she grinned brightly, and she handed him her phone to input his number. When he handed it back she shot off a quick text to make sure it was the right number, and so he could make a contact for her as well.

"I'll text you," she said. "I'd say 'I'll call you,' but I can't imagine you love of phone calls, so I'll text you."

"I look forward to it," he said honestly. "Now why don't you get some sleep."

He climbed into the driver's seat, buckled his seatbelt, and started the car. The headlights sprung to life, almost blindingly bright for a moment until their eyes adjusted, and the engine purred like an old cat enjoying a good massage. Finally, he pulled out onto the rode and drove away to hopefully finish his road trip without any further problems.

Lei-Ling stood there in the parking lot, waving him off until his break lights disappeared into the distance. She knew she would see him again. She was still wearing his leather jacket.

* * *

Ushiwara didn't think to expect very high security when he headed down the long driveway of Hachirosuto Laboratories, so he wasn't entirely sure what to do when he had to stop at a large chainlink gate guarded by four armed men. One of the men held out his hand, signaling Ushiwara to stay in the car while he approached, gripping his gun firmly, ready to use it without warning if the need arose.

"Turn around and go home, kid," the guard said. Misono leaned over the center column to address the man in Ushiwara's stead, since he knew his friend had social anxiety around strangers and wouldn't be able to handle any sort of confrontation.

"Listen Mr . . ." He searched the man's heavy-duty tactical wear for a name tag, and found an embroidered patch. He almost couldn't make it out from his distance, but managed to read it. "Yasu . . . niku. We found your spider, and I'm die." Making coherent sentences was becoming rapidly more difficult as the venom worked its way through his body. He had been in pain before, but it was affecting him more and more as time passed.

"Riiigght . . . move along, boys. You can't be here."

Misono huffed in exasperation. "What I mean to say is call the science 'cause Freaky Franny want me died."

"I tried to be nice, but if you don't leave now I'll have to use force, and trust me none of us want that."

"Sir. Spider. Important. Call Silentists or die."

"Are you threatening me?" Yasuniku asked, leveling his gun at the boy, aiming it right between his wide eyes.

"He's not threatening you, sir," Ushiwara interrupted, trying not to panic and freeze up, but wavering dangerously close to freak-out territory. "Um. What he's trying to tell you is that . . . we uh . . . or he, really . . . found the Aviculariinae Inaequale that escaped your facility, and it's . . . it's in the back seat . . . It bit my friend here, and he needs the uh . . . anti-venom or . . . or he could die . . . so . . ." Ushiwara cleared his throat and tried to say the next sentence with conviction. "Please call up to the facility and get one of the researchers down here to verify our story; my friend's life is on the line."

*** Yasuniku narrowed his eyes at the nervous boy, then glanced at the back seat and was startled to see a very large tarantula in a clear plastic cage. He called to one of the other guards, not taking his eyes off Ushiwara.

"Nikutai! Call up to the facility and tell them we've got two teen boys at the gate with no passes, asking for entry. Something about an escaped tarantula and a life or death situation." One of the other guards nodded, stepped into the booth by the gate and picked up a phone.

A few moments later, the guard leaned out of the booth and said, in a distinctly female voice that Ushiwara hadn't been expecting, "They want to know if it's the a-vic-you-lair-a in-a-quail, or something like that."

"Well kid?" Yakuniku prompted.

"The Aviculariinae Inaequale, yes," Ushiwara confirmed, trying not to sigh at the guard's horribly butchered pronunciation. "And it bit Misono two hours ago, so it's kind of urgent."

"The kid says that's the one!" Nikutai ducked back into the booth, then after a few more moments she hung up the phone and walked up to the car.

"Dr. Ichiyoi is coming down to verify that they actually have the specimen," Nikutai reported. "She's also bringing visitor passes in case the situation really is as urgent as this one says it is." She gestured to Ushiwara, still sitting behind the wheel of his father's car, a bundle of tightly knotted nerves hidden under sun tanned skin, a threadbare t-shirt, and khaki cargo shorts.

Yasuniku and the other three guards continued to watch the boys like hawks until a tall, willowy woman in a white lab coat and a spring green dress strolled up to the gate about three minutes later.

"I heard you found Franny," the woman said as she neared the car. "May I see?"

*** "She's in the back seat," Ushiwara forced out, pressing the button to unlock the doors. The woman opened up the back and pulled out the terrarium, examining the creature within, which had started frantically throwing itself against the walls and roof of the box in its continued attempts to free itself.

"It really is her!" she remarked, holding the terrarium up to get the best angle. "I'm Dr. Ichiyoi." She turned to look at the boys. "And you are?"

"I'm Chikara Ushiwara, and this is Kyo Misono. He was bitten, and he needs the cure."

"Oh, of course!" Dr. Ichiyoi took one hand off the terrarium and reached into her pocket, pulling out two lanyards with visitor IDs on them. "You'll have to get out of the car if that's alright. Oh, but I suppose your friend will need carrying if he has the venom in his system."

"No!" Misono argued, opening his door jerkily. "I don't. Help. Walk." He stood up, pulling himself out of the car, and swayed dangerously on his feet as he slammed the door shut, but remained standing upright unaided.

"Very well then . . ." she said hesitantly, giving the boys their visitor passes. "Yasuniku, will you walk us back to the facility?"

"Yes ma'am," the guard agreed.

Misono stumbled and wobbled all the way to the facility, refusing help and still _miraculously_ not falling over even once.

"So how did you manage to recapture her?" the doctor asked once they were safely within the halls of the facility under the watchful gaze of dozens of security cameras and harsh fluorescent lights.

"I wasn't there, you'll have to ask Misono-kun." Misono ran into a wall. "Once he's got his wits about him again . . ."

"I'm amazed he can even stand under is own volition after a bite from Franny." The doctor lifted the cage in her hand slightly.

"Yeah, he's always been . . . let's say: incredibly resilient."

"Not 'monster'?" Misono snarked, then promptly bumped into the wall again, and Ushiwara would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so concerned.

"And how long ago was he bitten?" Ichiyoi asked.

"About two hours ago."

"You're sure he was bitten by _this_ tarantula?" The doc raised her eyebrows. "He should have blacked out from the pain quite some time ago."

"Yup!" Misono said, then, indignantly, "Nooo."

"Incredible. I was bitten by Franny during one of the experiments, I don't think I would have lasted ten minutes if we hadn't had the anti-venom on hand." Ichiyoi's voice sounded like she was far away, and it wavered like the ripples of a bad memory. "That was the most painful experience of my life, it was . . . unimaginable. To suffer that for two hours and still be able to walk, as well as comprehend speech . . . it shouldn't be possible."

"That's what I told him, but he got all offended."

"' _Monster_ ,'" Misono reminded him.

"I guess I did call him a monster, but I was saying exactly the same thing, just with different wording."

"Word matters," Misono said, huffing in exasperation once again, at his inability to form complete sentences.

His brain and his mouth just wouldn't work together properly through the pain, and it was getting on his nerves. Also walking was hard when you could barely feel your legs, and what you could feel was like hundreds of pins and needles stabbing into your flesh repeatedly. And all of that on top of the fact that just breathing was a challenge with the searing pain in his chest and lungs.

It was just not his day.

*** He thought it was gonna be a good day, when he woke up at eleven a.m. and had pizza for breakfast. Then he went for his morning run in the afternoon and worked up a good sweat, and he found this awesome spider, and he even managed to catch it.

*** Then he got all its prickly hairs in his hands, and they were itchy and irritating, and then it bit him and then everything hurt, so he decided to try and take a nap, sleep it off, and when that didn't work, he took a painkiller and watched a comedy anime on Netflix to no avail. Everything went downhill after he caught that stupid spider.

He could hear Ushiwara and Dr. Ichiyoi talking about some of the stuff they did at this facility. Ushiwara asked about the doors they passed. One where they were testing a new type of brain scanner, another called the Lenetta Project that was super duper classified, something about rats and levitation, boring nerd stuff.

"How did you know that this was our tarantula?" the doc asked.

"I had just read an article about it online, and I remembered it because you don't discover a new species every day, and I thought it was cool."

"Nerd," Misono input.

*** Ushiwara was definitely a nerd, but that was okay. The world needed people who could identify brand new species of spiders after seeing a picture one time, just as much as it needed people who could survive deadly spider bites for two hours. Probably more so, if Misono was being honest, but since he was the latter and not the former he liked to think they were equally important.

Also, Ushiwara was having a real conversation with this woman without stammering or going all quiet, or looking like he was about to cry, and Misono was proud of him for that. Ushiwara got more comfortable when he was in his element, and creepy-crawlies were definitely his element.

"Alright, here we are," Dr. Ichiyoi announced, stopping at a door that looked exactly like the others, the only difference being the plaque on it reading: _Inaequale Experiments_. The doc swiped her ID card across the keypad and typed a bunch of numbers and then the light on the keypad flashed green and she opened the door.

"Yasuniku, you can hang out in the hall if you really want, but you might as well head back to your post and I'll call when these two need to be escorted back. We're gonna be a while." Yasuniku nodded and left.

"A why?" Misono tried to ask, but it didn't come out right. Luckily, Ushiwara understood what he meant and came to his rescue.

"How long is this gonna take?" he asked.

"Well, normally it takes about twelve minutes to fully take affect and we keep people under observation for a full hour to make sure it works right and that they don't have any negative reactions to the anti-venom, but it's never been administered more than 68 minutes after the bite occurred," the doc explained. "And in this case the affected is himself, quite remarkable. I'd like to run some tests, take a blood sample before and after anti-venom is administered, and keep him overnight for observation, if that's possible."

Misono only really got about a third of what she said, and tried to process it while she led him to a bed table thing and made him sit on it. He'd heard a bunch of numbers that didn't mean anything to him; the word 'tests,' which he hated in any context; and 'overnight,' which sounded a lot like 'sleepover,' which he did like. 'Sleepover' implied late mornings, light-hearted hazing, and copious amounts of junk food.

"If you think you should keep him overnight, then I trust your judgment, but . . ." Ushiwara trailed off, unsure of what conditions he even had the authority to put in place here.

"I'll talk to him once the anti-venom kicks in," she said. "Speaking of . . ." she pressed a button on the wall which looked like a doorbell, and a moment later, a woman wearing white scrubs entered, sporting a large canvas bag. "This is Nurse Yama, she'll be administering the anti-venom, she's done this several times, so there's no need to worry."

"Helloooo Nurse," Misono slurred. He tried to bounce his eyebrows suggestively, but his face was on fire, so he wasn't sure he even had eyebrows to bounce at her anymore. She was pretty, good body, smooth skin, and her hair looked so silky, even pulled back like it was. He wanted to touch it. "OUCH!"

She stabbed him. He was surprised he could even feel the pain of being stabbed what with the overwhelming agony of being alive, but he felt it. She stabbed him!

Pretty or not you can't just go around stabbing people after they're already having a shitty day, that's not nice. At least you should make sure they're having a good day before the stabbing so its not like kicking a dead hose or however the saying goes.

Then she stabbed him again!

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the pain started to recede a little. More importantly, Misono's mind started to clear up and he could both think _and_ form coherent sentences, which was a relief. He registered belatedly that the first stabbing was a blood draw, and the second was the anti-venom.

"Feeling any better, dude?" Ushiwara asked him timidly.

"Oh hella!" Misono declared. "Listen to me, talking in full sentences."

"I don't think 'oh hella' counts as a full sentence," Ushiwara ribbed, relief spreading across his fence face.

"Shut it man, you weren't the one who almost died," Misono leaned back on his hands and it hurt like a bitch but he wasn't about to move. "Shit, this counts as a near-death experience, doesn't it? It does, right?" He looked to the doc for an answer.

"I suppose. If everything hadn't fallen into place, you could very well have died, but as of now, Miss Franny's body count holds steadily at zero."

"Sweet. I've officially had a near-death experience." It was both terrifying and exhilarating, realizing just how close he had come to a slow and painful death, and he really just wanted to focus on the exhilarating part right now, but he did understand what the doc was saying about everything falling into place.

If it had been anyone else that got bitten, they wouldn't have been able to even move enough to get help. If he hadn't gone to Ushiwara, he wouldn't have known the danger. If Ushiwara hadn't known what to do, they wouldn't have come to the lab. If the emergency hadn't overridden Ushiwara's social anxiety, they couldn't have gotten a call inside. If Dr. Ichiyoi hadn't come to investigate, they might not have gotten inside.

If he had been anyone else, or if he had been just a little bit more stupid, or less social, or if Ushiwara was worse under pressure, or if Dr. Ichiyoi hadn't been in the lab, it wouldn't have been a _near_ -death experience. It would have just been a _death_ experience.

"Guess I can cross that off the bucket list." Misono grinned goofily, really happy to be alive, even if everything hurt.

"Almost dying is on your list of things you want to do before you die?" Ushiwara laughed, and Misono laughed along with him for a moment before the pain made him stop and grimace. "Does it still hurt?"

"Not as much, but yeah."

"Where does it hurt?" the doc asked.

"Uh . . . chest mostly. Hurts to breath and laugh and move my shoulders. Everything is still kind of tender, too, and I still can't really feel my arms or legs more than, like, a vague pins and needles feeling, but it's definitely not as bad as it was."

"You can't feel your arms or legs? How did you manage to walk all the way over here on your own power if you couldn't feel your legs?"

"One foot in front of the other, I guess." He shrugged.

"You're talking to a guy who walked to the emergency room on a broken leg two years ago," Ushiwara scoffed disapprovingly. "And last summer he ran two marathons on the same day and placed top ten in both of them. He has no regard for his physical wellbeing as far as I'm aware."

"In that case, I definitely want to keep you for observation overnight," she told Misono, putting on a serious doctor face. "Is there anyone I should call?"

"Uhh . . . I could call my mom and leave her a voicemail, since I doubt she'll answer. My parents basically give me complete independence since they feel like they've had to deal with me long enough, so it shouldn't be a problem. They trust me to make my own decisions and if that means staying overnight in a strange and low-key spooky lab place, then it is what it is."

"Can I give you my number and you'll call me when you're ready to release him tomorrow?" Ushiwara asked. "I don't think he should be walking home, and I doubt his parents will be able to pick him up, they're usually pretty busy."

"Sure," the doc agreed with a smile, then reached into the pocket of her lab coat and handed him a card. "Here's my business card, you can go ahead and call me or email me with any questions, and if you notice strange behavior after I release him, or if he mentions continued pain or anything, please let me know."

"Oh, great, thanks," Ushiwara pocketed the card gratefully. "I don't have a business card because I'm seventeen, but I can write down my number for you or put it directly into your phone, whatever works."

After they exchanged numbers, Dr. Ichiyoi called a guard to escort Ushiwara out so remaining tests could be done without distraction and the boys said their goodbyes.

* * *

The following day, late in the morning, Ushiwara got a call from Hachirosuto Laboratories saying he could come pick up Misono. When he got there, both Misono and Dr. Ichiyoi were waiting for him by the gate. The doctor reminded him to contact her if anything came up, even if it wasn't related to the tarantula. Then the boys started their drive home.

"You totally scored that scientist lady's number," Misono said. "She's pretty good-looking, and she shares your nerdy-ness. I'd call that a win."

"She's like twice my age! The number sharing was for scientific purposes only." Ushiwara rolled his eyes.

"Uh-huh, riiigght." Ushiwara chuckled, but if he hadn't know it was a joke, he would have been very uncomfortable.

"Alright, so what were the results of your tests?" Ushiwara asked finally.

"I failed all of them."

"What?"

"I'm kidding!" Misono amended quickly. "Sorry dude, kinda forgot this was like, a serious situation and junk. It was kinda just a boring night followed by a more boring but less physically painful morning."

"So you're not in pain anymore?"

"Nope! My butt's kinda sore from sitting around all day—they wouldn't let me do any 'strenuous physical activity'—but other than that, I'm all good."

"And what about the blood tests?"

"Well when they ran the first one, they found a disproportionately greater concentration of the venom than they found in previous samples. They weren't sure if that was because it was in my system so long, because according to their math, the concentration still shouldn't have been quite that high. The other theory is that it spread faster and more potently in an attempt to combat my natural durability." Misono recited, trying to recall the wording that the scientists had used. He was pretty sure that was at least close.

"So, what I'm saying is I'm basically a superhero. And the second blood test was just normal. They said I had a higher white blood cell count than normal, which they thought was because my body produced them in higher concentration to try and combat the venom.

"Then they accessed my private medical records. I don't know how they did that, but they did, and they found out that according to previous blood tests I have a naturally elevated white blood cell count. Not to the level that it was when they did their spider bite tests, and not enough that it causes any problems in my body, but enough to be worth noting.

"I don't remember it very well, but apparently they noticed when I was little and thought it might be because of an infection or virus or something but never found anything wrong with me, so they had to accept that I was just weird. The doc said it might be a contributing factor to me being so resilient, but not the whole reason."

She also said she wanted him to come back for more tests in a month, but he wasn't sure if he was going to. Maybe he would to visit Freaky Franny. Even though she had bitten him, she was still super cool.

"So you're healthy then?" Ushiwara said slowly, trying to translate Misono's tangent into usable data. "All your tests came up good and you're totally in the clear?"

"Yup," Misono declared, popping the 'P.' "Let's celebrate with milkshakes. You're buying."

"I'm taking you home and you're going to get some sleep," Ushiwara said, rolling his eyes. "I am not buying you a milkshake."

"Come on, man!" Misono complained, slouching down in his seat to mope. "Can't a guy get a milkshake for his near-death experience? I'll buy it myself if you just drive through someplace."

"Home. Sleep."

"But I haven't even gone on my run yet today."

Ushiwara sighed heavily. "How about this, We'll stop for milkshakes if you promise not to go on a run today. You need to minimize your physical activity after what you went through."

"Will you pay for the milkshakes we stop for?" Misono sat up straight and smiled slyly.

"Yes. Fine. I'll buy the milkshakes."

"Then I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you at the end of the last chapter that this would be long. 
> 
> There was a deleted scene at the end of this chapter where Misono teases Ushiwara for acting like a worried boyfriend and Ushiwara expresses his absolute horror at the idea of dating Misono, a bastard with no sense of self-preservation. I left it out because it was 2 a.m. and the chapter was already over 7500 words and didn't need to be longer, but I thought you guys would appreciate the knowledge of what might have been. Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	8. Discovery time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kirasaya goes to visit her grandparents in Tokyo for the first time in years and discovers something intriguing in their collection of old newspaper clippings, that sheds some light on her friend Fumei, and Fumei runs into Irina while out with her aunt and uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of child abuse, domestic violence, and murder.

"Kemi, are your bags packed?" Mrs. Kirasaya called down the hall to her daughter's room. "Your grandparents are expecting us in Tokyo in time for dinner."

"Yup!" Akemi called, running down the hallway past her mother, before immediately backtracking to her room to retrieve her phone charger, then backtracking again to grab her katana, just in case. "Ok, now I'm ready."

"I honestly don't understand why you carry that thing around all the time," her mother commented, shaking her head. "You're not even in kendo club anymore."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can let my skills get rusty."

"Alright, little samurai, let's get going. I left a space for your suitcase in the trunk. Did you pack your toothbrush? Hairbrush? Underwear? Plenty of socks?"

"Yes mom," Akemi groaned, wedging her suitcase into the trunk of her mother's car, and circling to climb into the front seat. "Did _you_ bring the road trip snacks?" Mrs. Kirasaya smirked conspiratorially, and pulled out a 1.5 pound bag of chibi gummies. "Oh, yes! I'm so glad dad's going separately." They laughed knowing very well that Mr. Kirasaya would not approve of his girls eating so much sugar, but chibi gummies were a tradition and they couldn't just ignore a tradition.

"You excited to see your grandparents?" Mrs. Kirasaya asked, starting the car, and Akemi nodded enthusiastically. A few gummies fell on her lap as she ripped open the bag and placed it between their two cupholders. "How long has it been since we've gone to visit them?"

"Um, I waaasss 14 last time, so it's been about three years," Akemi guessed, collecting the fallen sweets and popping one into her mouth, savoring the twinge of sourness that slowly gave way to fruity sweetness.

"Has it really been that long since you've seen them?" her mother frowned at the road.

"No, they came to my kendo competition last year, so I've seen them, we just haven't gone to visit them in that long."

"Well I'm sure they're looking forward to it, then. It's not often their favorite granddaughter comes all the way out to Tokyo to see them."

"I'm their _only_ granddaughter." Akemi rolled her eyes and shoved her hand into the bag of gummies, proceeding to put the whole handful into her mouth at once and struggle to chew and swallow them without choking.

"Kemi, slow down!" her mother scolded. "I don't want you dead on arrival."

* * *

"Well, well, well, if it isn't our favorite granddaughter," Nana Kawa said the moment she opened the door to let her daughter and granddaughter into her home in urban Tokyo.

"And our only granddaughter," Papa Kosui added, as if those two statements were not entirely codependent on one another. "And our only daughter! All three, here in time for dinner, as promised. Come on in, ladies."

"I'm not your favorite daughter?" Akemi's mother teased as they took their shoes off in the entryway.

"You're a close second," her father replied, rubbing his chin, and his wife smacked him playfully. "You didn't spoil your appetites with those chibi gummies, did you?"

"No, of course not," Akemi lied. "We didn't even get chibi gummies this time."

"Liar, let me smell your breath," Papa Kosui demanded, leaning forward before she had the chance to protest. "As I suspected, sour and fruity." He glared for a moment, mostly for the joke, and Akemi shrugged in defeat.

"Couldn't hurt to try," she said.

"Well, I can't really fault you for following a tradition that my lovely wife started," he sighed, "because everything she does is good, and completely without fault. Isn't that right, dearest?" Nana Kawa laughed.

"Why don't you help me by setting the table, and keep in mind that I'm holding your dessert hostage," Nana Kawa said, walking into the kitchen to tend to dinner.

"Welp, you suffer, I suffer, kids, so let's get cracking. I will not be denied Kawa's dorayaki." Papa Kosui was surprisingly sprightly in heading to the kitchen and bringing out tableware for the four of them while his wife laughed heartily.

This was Akemi's grandparents' dynamic. Her mother likened them to Roger and Jessica Rabbit. Nana Kawa was a beautiful, semi-famous singer in her youth, and was now a vocal coach, and Papa Kosui made her laugh. They'd met when he was trying his hand at stand-up comedy, and happened to be performing at the same venue as her. His career in comedy never really took off. He performed for a while, still holding onto his day-job as a news editor, but she thought he was funny, and that was what mattered most.

Akemi would never admit it, because it wasn't something one admitted about one's grandparents, but she always thought it was sweet. Especially since she knew Papa Kosui had been telling the same old jokes for _years_ and Nana Kawa always laughed.

"Oh, I wanted to tell you some exciting news," Nana Kawa announced once they were all seated at the table, enjoying her cooking. She smiled like she had a secret. "I just signed a contract to be Haruna Mase's vocal coach for an upcoming film about samurai, isn't that cool?" 

"Seriously?" Akemi asked excitedly.

"Yup, she's going to play an onna-bugeisha, who finds that one of the enemies that she slays has a child and adopts it, and there are scenes where she sings to the child, which is where I come in."

"That's awesome Nana Kawa!" Akemi congratulated. "Did I tell you about the time she came into my class early last semester?"

"Oh? No you didn't," Nana Kawa said curiously.

"Why would a famous actress visit a high school class?" Papa Kosui asked.

"She was in town for a premier, and apparently she and my teacher are friends since middle school, so she came in during her break to visit with him. It was the middle of class for us, though."

"This is the teacher who brought his boyfriend on the school trip and let him beat you kids up, right?" Papa Kosui remembered, rubbing his bare chin thoughtfully (Nana Kawa wouldn't let him grow a beard, even though he always said he wanted one).

"It was sparring for PE class, but yes," Akemi said. "Of course that's what you remember. Of everything I told you, in all our many phone calls, you remember _that_."

"Well that is the sort of thing that sticks in the brain." He shrugged and took another bite of his curry.

"You never told _me_ about this," Akemi's mother said. "I didn't even know the famous Nagisa-sensei had a boyfriend."

"Well, it is supposed to be a secret," Akemi muttered.

"So you told your grandfather, who works at one of the most widely read news outlets in Japan?" Her mother raised an eyebrow. Akemi was always terrible at keeping secrets, and she knew it. Her whole life she'd never known anyone as bad at keeping secrets as she was. It was a pretty big problem, especially since she'd been learning to be more observant since becoming friends with Fumei.

"Well, I had just got back from the class trip, and I was salty. I mean the only person who even got _close_ to landing a hit on the guy when we sparred with him was Saishuu, freaking Saishuu! The patron saint of 'why don't we talk this out like civilized people, and see if we can't come up with a mutually beneficial solution.'"

"Diplomacy?" Papa Kosui offered.

" _Yes_ , that's the word for that."

"And this was whom, that you sparred with?" Nana Kawa asked.

"His name's Karma, and he's a badass, with an emphasis on the ass," she said.

"Akemi, language," her mother chided.

"He's actually Nagisa-sensei's fiancé now," Akemi amended. "He proposed over the phone during our lunch break. I was there."

"How romantic~," Papa Kosui said.

"Well gay marriage had literally _just_ been legalized, so it was kinda short notice."

"Touché."

"We should probably steer the topic away from Kemi's teacher's love life," Nana Kawa suggested. "I feel like I'm prying where I shouldn't. It's not really our business, is it?"

"You're very right, my dear, an excellent point." Papa Kosui finished off his dinner, and then said, "I was thinking about going through my old newspaper collection and thinning it out a bit, or at least organizing it some. I looked at it this morning and it's recently overthrown the monarchy it established last year in a violent and gory revolution. I swear I saw a guillotine up there. Care to help me out with that tomorrow Kemi? Your other option is needlepoint."

"Damn, you've got me cornered." Sure, going through old papers sounded boring, but Akemi detested needlepoint. She was very impressed by anyone who actually _could_ do needlepoint, but she herself had neither the patience nor the fine motor skills for it and whenever she tried it her piece ended up abstract and covered in droplets of blood. "Alright, I guess squashing a newspaper revolution is better than tetanus."

"My needles will _not_ give you tetanus," Nana Kawa said indignantly.

"Great! We've got ourselves a plan then." Papa Kosui rubbed his hands together. "Now, how about those dorayaki?"

"Not yet dear." Nana Kawa rolled her eyes. "The rest of us haven't finished eating dinner yet."

* * *

"Hop to, Kemi, we've got papers to sort!" Papa Kosui called through the door. Akemi crawled out of bed, yawning, then dug though her bag for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She was tying her ribbon around her hair when she walked into the kitchen for a breakfast of bacon and eggs, and the moment she finished eating, her grandfather dragged her up into the attic.

She rubbed her still-bleary eyes as she was faced with stacks upon stacks of old newspapers. "Uh . . . Papa Kosui?"

"Yes Darlin'?"

"Are we really gonna go through all of these?" Akemi grimaced in her grandfather's direction. "'Cause I'm only here for the weekend."

"Well, your dad'll be here in a couple hours and he'll help out, I'm sure." Papa Kosui rubbed his chin. "That man's always been a bit afraid of me, so he won't dare say no."

"Doesn't help that you still give him the shovel talk every single time you talk to him," Akemi said, picking up the nearest paper.

"You'd think it would've lost its effectiveness after over twenty years . . . he really is a 'fraidy cat, isn't he?"

"Well, a little, but you also get more detailed and creative as time passes. Didn't you threaten to re-order his spinal column last time? And what was it the time before? Something about teeth?"

"I believe I said I'd 'harvest your teeth and boil them for you'," he recalled.

"It's no wonder he's afraid of you. He thinks you're a fucking psychopath."

"Kemi!" Papa Kosui scolded. "When did you become so foul mouthed? You never cursed like this in middle school and middle schoolers really have things to curse about."

"Oh, sorry. My best friend cusses _constantly_ , like every other word sometimes, so I guess she kinda rubbed off on me. I'll watch my mouth."

"You really don't have to worry that much around me, but don't ever let your grandmother hear you say the fuck word or she'll give you what for." Akemi snorted.

"Alright, so how are we gonna do this?" she asked.

"Read me the dates and the front page headlines, and I'll tell you keep or toss," Papa Kosui explained, picking up a paper. "I may ask you to read some other headlines, or to only save specific pages, then we pile them up by year. Once we're done purging, we go through year by year and put 'em in chronological order."

"Got it." She looked down at the paper in her hands, finding the date. "Let's see... December 6, 20XX: 'Government Passes Legislation for Rehab of Public Transit Systems in Tokyo', 'Water discovered on Earth-like Planet Y-67-Æ1', 'Local Police Arrest Serial Flasher', 'Famed Artist'—"

"You can go ahead and toss that one."

"Really? Discovery of water on another planet seems like kind of a big deal."

"Not for my lifetime, not when we won't be able to fly that far out for several decades anyway. Besides, space is confusing, and empty, and full of itself. I'm only interested a few very specific things. It's kind of an . . . 'I'll know it when I hear it' sort of thing. I have an intuition even I don't understand."

"Right . . ." Akemi stuffed the paper in a garbage bag. "March 15, 20XX: 'Moon Explodes'—"

"Keep that one."

"I thought you didn't care about space."

"I can't not keep the paper with the headline about the biggest thing to happen in my lifetime."

Akemi had no guesses as to why her grandfather chose to keep some newspapers and toss others. She really had no idea whether he'd say 'keep' or 'toss' until he said it.

"Keep the page with the article about the debut of that artist Sugaya," he said, but when she asked why, he merely shrugged. "Keep the page with the article about the electronic stores being attacked." Again, no answer as to the why. "Hold onto anything about that Haruna Mase woman." Nana Kawa had been a fan of Haruna Mase since her debut, so at least that one made sense.

"November 3, 20XX: 'Unexpected Flop! Latest Film Starring Yuuhei Hanejima Loses Nearly 100,000,000 Yen at Box Office', 'Twelve Year Old Girl Arrested on Suspicion of Murder for the Deaths of her Parents and Older Brother', 'Scientists Discover'—hold on . . ." Akemi stared at the picture accompanying the second article, the one about the murders. The picture showed the girl in handcuffs being led away by police. Her eyes were blurred out, but she looked really familiar. "Is that . . . ?" Akemi muttered. She read the first few lines of the article.

_Three members of the Tsuyo family were violently murdered in their home last night, and the culprit is believed to be the family's twelve-year-old daughter, whose name will not be released to the public at this time, awaiting further investigation by the authorities._

"Hm? Something wrong Kemi?" Papa Kosui asked, looking up from the paper he was reading when he'd realized she'd stopped talking.

"I think . . . I think this article's about Fumei . . ." she said. "Yeah . . . Tsuyo's her family name, and she would have been twelve at the time this was written so . . ." Akemi stared at the article, eyebrows pinched and mouth drawn in a frown. "I thought the girl in the picture looked familiar . . ."

"And Fumei, that's your best friend since you started high-school, right?" he remembered. As old as Papa Kosui got, his memory had always been impeccable, even when sometimes people wished it wasn't—especially then. However, impeccable as it was, it did tend to be selective. "She the one who swears a lot?"

"Uh-huh. She lives with her aunt and uncle now. She told me once that she lost her other family, but . . . I never got any details." Akemi looked at her grandfather, distraught. "It says 'Arrested on Suspicion'. You don't think she really killed her family, do you? If she had . . . she'd be in jail right now, not going to school in the suburbs, right?"

"I don't know how that story ends . . ." her grandfather said. "It sounds familiar though. Maybe you should pull any papers with articles about that case out for yourself. Put them in a separate stack. Not everything we save has to be for me. I'll let you know if I remember an article about it being in a paper, and I'll keep an eye out for the series in my papers too. I don't think I've tossed any so far, so we shouldn't have to go through issues we've already tossed."

After that, Akemi set aside only a handful of other papers for her own search. About a half hour later, they heard the front door open, and Papa Kosui left for a little while to intimidate Akemi's father into helping them. With three people working, they managed to get through more than half of the papers by dinnertime, and the next morning they were at it again.

It was early evening on the second day of work by the time they finished sorting. a majority of the papers would be heading off to be recycled in a few days, and Akemi's personal stack had seven papers in total. They hadn't explained to Akemi's father why she had her own stack of papers she was keeping.

"I think Kemi and I can handle the rest," Papa Kosui told his son-in-law. "You're free to go now. Your organs are safe." Akemi's father nodded and silently left, eyes wide.

"What did you tell him?" Akemi asked.

"I said I'd steal one of each of his organs and pickle them when Kawa does her preserving next week." Papa Kosui said thoughtfully. "Might've been overkill. I should have saved it for New Year's and gone with something less laborious for the newspaper thing. Anyway, let's start with your stack. I'm sure you're curious, and if we don't get around to the rest of them, I can sort them after you go."

"Alright." Akemi sorted her seven papers by date. "Shall I read them out loud?"

"Yes please. You've got me curious about this now, too."

The first article talked about the daughter's initial arrest, and the discovery of the bodies. It said that her parents had been stabbed with a kitchen knife, and her brother, a year older than her, had been strangled. It also said that she had been the one to call the police, and she was still holding the bloody knife when police arrived on the scene.

The second article revealed new evidence that came to light which proved that it was actually not the daughter but the father who was responsible for the older brother's death. The hand shaped bruise marks on the older brother's neck were far to big to have been caused by his sister, and the CSIs were able to recover fingerprints off his skin which matched their father's. The article also revealed that both the son's corpse and the daughter's body had many bruises both old and recent which indicated child abuse.

The third article revealed that the police were now certain that the daughter had been the one who stabbed her parents to death, but whereas they had thought before that it was a crime of passion, it now seemed more likely that the daughter had acted in self-defense.

The fourth article was an exclusive look at the daughter's side of the story, after the police released her statement to the paper, trusting their reliable reputation not to screw the material in any way. The daughter claimed that she and her brother had brought home their midterm exam results that day, and that her brother had not scored well, which caused her parents to be angry, and that her father had strangled her brother out of anger. Though the daughter had scored at the very top of her class, her parents were even more angry at her for outshining her older brother, and that she felt sure they were going to kill her next, after which she has no memory of what happened until she woke up to find her parents dead and called the police.

Neighbors confirmed that the Tsuyo parents were definitely abusive toward their children, both physically and verbally, and especially to their daughter. Neighbors quoted the mother as saying "That's no daughter of mine. That's a demon, a changeling. That's an evil fairy child who took my real daughter's place when she was spirited away." The neighbors apparently never reported this abuse to the police because they feared for their own safety if they did so.

The fifth article reported briefly that the investigation had ended, and a date had been decided for the Tsuyo trial.

The sixth article chronicled an unexpected twist in the case, when, rather than a public defender representing the girl, a lawyer was provided for her by the Ministry of Defense. The Ministry provided no explanation for their interest in the case, nor in the girl, so speculations were running rampant. The mystery was only emphasized by the fact that the man they provided to represent her was, himself, a mystery. No one had ever heard of him until he appeared to represent her.

The seventh article described the court case, how all the evidence had been laid out by the prosecutors, in an attempt to convince the jury that it had been a crime of passion, and get her convicted of second degree murder, whereas the defense argued that she acted entirely in self defense, and should be completely exonerated of her crimes. In the end, the defense was successful, and the jury came to a unanimous ruling in only twenty-seven minutes.

The last few paragraphs explained that the daughter would not receive any legal repercussions, and that she would be sent to live with relatives outside of Tokyo. The journalist ended it by wishing her well and expressing hope that the girl would be able to find peace, despite the tragedy.

"So . . . she did do it . . ." Akemi said.

"It seems she didn't have a choice." Papa Kosui put an arm around his granddaughter to comfort her.

"Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"Well . . . Imagine that your parents think you're a monster, an actual monster, apparently, and then they kill your brother, who, objectively, is their favorite, and then you black out, and wake up to discover you've killed them both," he said. "Now imagine you went through all the stress and confusion of court, and came out exonerated. Then you go to a new town where no one has ever heard of you. Where you're safe, and you're not afraid, and no one's afraid of you either. Lastly, Imagine that your best friend is the unrivaled worst secret-keeper Japan has ever known. Would you have told you?"

"Yeah . . . I guess not, huh."

"You probably wouldn't want to talk about it at all, right?"

"I'd want to forget it ever happened," Akemi said. "Geez, now I feel bad for ever getting upset about it. I just . . . I never realized that Fumei ever had it so rough. The worst part though, is that it makes sense now."

"What makes sense?"

"Why Fumei is so dedicated to her 'I don't give a shit' persona. Why she intentionally aims for below average grades, and doesn't turn in her homework—even though I know for a fact that she does all of it—and pretends not to pay attention in class. It makes sense why she likes computers better than real people, and why her aunt and uncle always get so worried when she's home late. I feel like everything I ever thought was weird about Fumei suddenly makes sense now in the _worst_ _possible_ way." She heard her voice crack, and she realized she was crying. Papa Kosui pulled her into a tighter hug, and shushed her softly, swaying back and forth.

"We can't erase the traumas of others," Papa Kosui said. "We can't change the past, and we can't take away people's pain. All we can do is accept them the way they are, and give them love and help when they need it. Kemi, darling, I know you care a lot for your friend, and I'm sure it means a lot to her that you do."

* * *

Fumei sneezed into her elbow and sniffed.

"Bless you," offered a voice from behind her. She turned to see a stunning blonde woman smiling at her.

"Thanks . . . Irina," Fumei said. She glanced around the electronics store, a little confused. "The hell are you doing here?"

"My phone case broke while I was working," Irina said, unperturbed by Fumei's rudeness. "I was really lucky the phone itself came out intact, honestly, but the case was basically in shambles, so since it's my day off I came to get a replacement. What about you, Fumei?"

"My fucking phone charger crapped out on me. The lightning adapter got crushed to shit, and it's so outmoded this is like the third fucking store I've been to looking for a new one. Also, I'm hooking up a surround sound system for Uncle Ed's birthday, and one of the goddamn janky-ass cables started fucking sparking, 'cause of fucking course it did, but I already got a replacement for that, so I don't know why the hell I'm even telling you."

"That so? Sometimes I forget that your tech skills aren't limited to just hacking. You're quite the engineer, too."

"I fuckin' guess."

"Tadaomi told me you're one of Nagisa's students," Irina mentioned, casually pulling a cellphone case off the rack and reading the packaging. "No, this one won't be nearly sturdy enough. Too bad. It's cute."

"And you know Nagisa-sensei how?" Fumei sighed. "Fuck it. I don't even give a shit. At this point, I'm just gonna assume that every fucker knows Nagisa-sensei. That guy's just the motherfucking _king_ of networking, goddamn." Irina chuckled.

"I used to be his English teacher, back when he was a middle school third year. My husband was his teacher too. That's how Tadaomi and I met, although we didn't care for each other much at first." She selected another phone case, a heavy duty one in a soft pink color. "I'm curious. Is he a good teacher? Do you and your classmates like him?"

"He's a fucking weird as all hell try-hard who can't mind his own damn business, and then fuckin' scolds us when we don't mind ours," Fumei said. "He's the greatest teacher any of us dumbass delinquent layabouts have ever had."

"He learned from the best."

"If you're implying he learned from you then—" Irina interrupted her with a laugh.

"No, definitely not. I taught English using risqué examples of phrases I used to seduce men, and wore an outfit so skimpy my bust was practically popping out of it for the whole first semester."

"Yeah, that tracks."

"I will choose not to be offended by that. I've toned it down a lot in the past seven years," Irina said. "I wasn't talking about my husband either. He was a hard-ass, and a total brick wall when it came to conversation. Those kids had one other teacher, though I can't say any more than that."

"That was Koro-sensei, wasn't it?"

"How'd you know about that?" Irina asked, putting the light pink case back on the rack.

"Fucking read about him the last time I hacked the MOD," she said with a shrug. "There was a memorial for him up on that damn mountain, too, the one where we had our class trip. All I really know is that he was a human genetic experiment involving tentacles, and that for some reason he insisted on teaching a class of middle schoolers who eventually killed him, with Nagisa-sensei dealing the final blow, which I know is a hundred percent more than I legally should know, but whatever. If he was such a great teacher, why did they kill him?"

"Because that's what he was teaching them for," Irina said. "I really can't talk about this anymore, but suffice it to say there were extenuating circumstances for sure." She finally selected a heavy, white case from the rack and read the packaging. "I'm getting this one. It was nice talking to you, Fumei. Good luck finding that lightning adapter."

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy your fucking phone case, I guess. Get lost."

"Always a pleasure talking with you," Irina shot back teasingly as she headed to the register to check out.

For Fumei, talking to Irina was always a bit of a trip. They had only met on a few occasions, but every time, Fumei didn't realize until their conversation was over just how much she'd said. The way Irina conversed, not just her words, but her tone, her inflection, and her body language, all somehow served to get more information out of someone than they really wanted to give, make them really talk with her, and not just listen. That woman really was a master spy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on Fumei's backstory pretty much the whole time and this is only most of it. Also, Akemi's shitty secret-keeping has long been a plot device in this book, but I'm pretty sure this is the first time it's ever been called out within the narrative. So @ all y'all readers who complained about Akemi's inability to keep secrets - She also doesn't want her to be doing this.
> 
> I just watched Would You Rather, the horror movie, and it was really disappointing. I called the twist ending by literally the fourth scene, and spent the entire time frustrated about the bad guy's inability to follow his own rules. All in all, it did not change my generally unenthusiastic opinion about horror as a genre, not that any of you guys care, but I'm the author so I can write whatever the fuck I want in my end notes. Suck it! Love y'all. 
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	9. Break-up time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurra plots to break up Karma and Nagisa's wedding and their relationship, and Sakura's parents finally talk about getting a divorce, and with their daughter's approval, they decide it would be best to go through with it.

It was an accident, really, coincidence. Probably the universe at work, if you asked Kurra. It wasn't like he had gotten Kirasaya to tell him where Karma worked _intentionally_ ; she was just so bad at keeping secrets that she let it slip without _any_ prompting on his part. He _didn't_ leave the house that afternoon with the express purpose of going to the Ministry of Economics and Trade, it just so happened that there was a pet supply store nearby that he wanted to visit, even though he had no pets, nor any interest in getting pets, because he hated the smell of animals and also all pet food. 

There was no reason at all that he had decided to wear a hoodie on a hot summer day, he just felt like it. He also felt like hiding his face and ducking out of sight when Karma left his place of work, and leaving the pet store at the same time to walk in the same direction as Karma a few meters behind while trying his best not to be seen or noticed. He was random like that sometimes.

He certainly hadn't meant to eavesdrop when Karma answered his phone, but he did overhear, completely by accident, that he was talking to Nagisa-sensei and that they were going to meet at a place called _Shiko no Kate_ to taste test menus for the wedding. And it was happenstance when he suddenly remembered an urgent need to go to a caterer because of . . . some reason, and split before he was caught.

Kurra couldn't justify his actions to others, but privately he knew that the only way he could be with Nagisa-sensei was to break up him and Karma. His plan to do that was to get the pair of them in a high-stress situation and throw a proverbial stone. If being a groomsman at his aunt's wedding had showed him anything it was that wedding planning was possibly the most high-stress environment there was.

His aunt's wedding had been a disaster, and she ended up breaking it off with her fiancé the day of the ceremony in a big, dramatic huff, accusing him of sleeping with a bridesmaid, which Kurra was pretty sure never happened, and of not valuing her like he should, which Kurra was pretty sure had been blatantly obvious from the beginning. It had been the only wedding he'd ever been to, but it couldn't have been too different from how they usually go. Just normally the couple kept their grievances to themselves and said their "I do"s anyway.

There had to be some grievances between Karma and Nagisa. No relationship was perfect.

Nagisa and Karma were already at the caterer when Kurra arrived. He snuck in the service entrance and headed to the kitchen.

"It's odd that the bride-to-be didn't come for the taste test," said one server to the other.

"They're gay Sura," the other server responded flatly.

"Ohhh."

The second server shook her head with a sigh.

Kurra held back a snort of laughter as he snuck up behind the pair and put a bug on one of the plates. Hopefully they wouldn't see the bug until someone pointed it out, then Karma would get mad and blow up at the servers and Nagisa-sensei would realize he was a jerk. Everyone knew only assholes treated the waitstaff like that.

Kurra was actually surprised at how easy it was, sneaking in, planting the bug. He'd expected it to be more of a challenge, but Nagisa-sensei's assassination lessons must have been paying off because he didn't have much trouble with it at all. No one saw him sneaking out with the servers to get a look at the results of his plan.

The tastings were done on a lovely outdoor patio garden with pretty climbing flowers. The caterers clearly cared about presentation. Kurra crouched behind a planter box with a grapevine and some soft blue flowers which he couldn't name, but they smelled nice. The servers put the plates on the table. Karma got the plate with the bug. Kurra smirked, full of anticipation.

"Is the little caterpillar part of the dish?" Karma joked. Kurra's smirk dropped instantly. He wasn't getting mad.

"What?" One of the servers leaned down to get a look at his plate, then jerked her head back in alarm. "Oh dear me, no sir. I'm so sorry! I don't know how that got there. We just had our health inspection last week, and we passed with flying colors, I assure you. We'll take your plate back to the kitchen and have it re-made. In fact, we'll take both of them back, just in case it . . . traveled. I'm so terribly sorry for the inconvenience we'll make it up right away."

"Don't worry so much, it happens. We are outside, after all," Karma said, smiling easily.

"We don't mind waiting," Nagisa said. "You do what you need to, we're not in any rush."

Both the server's smiled gratefully and they took the plates back to the kitchen to be re-done. Once they were gone, Karma started to laugh, and Nagisa-sensei joined in shortly with a cute little giggle of his own.

"She was so scared," Karma said though his laughter.

"She probably thought we were gonna get pissed, can you blame her?" Nagisa said sympathetically, swatting Karma's arm, though it seemed more out of habit than actual annoyance.

Kurra grimaced, watching from behind the planter box. Who _wouldn't_ get pissed if they found a bug in their food? How was Karma so chill about it? He laughed afterwards about the servers anxiety, but he didn't get mad at _all_. This endeavor, Kurra realized, may prove to be more difficult than he initially thought.

* * *

Sakura sat on one side of the family table, and her parents sat on the other side. Her parents hadn't looked at each other at all, not even a glance, since they had asked her to put her summer reading homework away because they had to have a serious discussion with her.

Her parents had always been very proud of her diligence when it came to school, and ever since she moved on from the cram school, they made a point of never disrupting her when she was doing homework, except of course, for meals. She was a growing girl, after all, and it was important for her to eat properly. But it was mid afternoon then, well after lunch, but not nearly time for dinner. When her parents told her to put her reading down, she knew it had to be something important.

They were silent. Her mother worried her lips, and shifted nervously. Her father stared intensely at her, then cleared his throat and looked down at the table without saying anything. Clearly this was something they needed to talk to their daughter about, but didn't want to bring up.

"So, what is it?" she asked them, hoping to jumpstart the conversation so she could finish her reading.

"Sakura dear," her mother said, taking a deep breath. "You know your father and I love you very much, and we would never want to hurt you. Neither of us wanted you caught in the crossfire. I'm so unbelievably sorry that—"

"I know, Mom," Sakura interrupted. "That was months ago. I know you didn't mean to. It was kinda my fault for getting in the way."

"Absolutely not!" her father snapped, raising his voice. When he saw Sakura tense he reigned it in again and continued at a more reasonable volume, his voice still stern. "When someone else hurts you, it is never your fault. It may not have been intentional, but it's your mother's fault that happened, not yours." Her mother pursed her lips but didn't argue.

"The reason we wanted to talk to you," Sakura's mother continued, "is because, while we both love you dearly, our relationship with _each_ _other_ has been . . . well . . ."

"Shitty," Sakura finished, and her father snorted quietly before schooling his face into a more serious expression.

"Language, Sakura," her mother chided. "I was going to say that our relationship . . . well . . . strained. It's been on the rocks for years now, and it's nothing to do with you. We just don't work like we used to."

Sakura was beginning to put together the purpose of this conversation. It wasn't just her mother's ninetieth apology for the incident a few months ago, and it wasn't her father making sure she didn't blame herself for their failures as parents. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"We've tried to pull ourselves together, for your sake, and we've tried to make things work," he mother said. "We didn't want to make any decisions that would upset you or cause you undue stress, but the way we've been carrying on..."

"We'd like to get a divorce," Sakura's father said bluntly. "There's no point beating around the bush. Our marriage has been falling apart for years, and it's bound to happen eventually, but we think now's the time."

"I was getting there," her mother said curtly. "There was no reason to interrupt me."

"Thing is, we don't agree on a lot anymore, but we agree that we love you more than we can't stand each other, so we're running it by you first. We're willing to wait until you're ready, but we wanted to bring it up to you now. You're plenty old enough to understand, and I think that us staying together the way we are might be causing you more stress than if we split."

"And I'm _worried_. What with you disappearing when we argue, and we're so preoccupied that we don't notice you're gone until you come back, and I don't know where you go. I wan't you to feel safe at home."

"So, you want to separate, but you're asking me first?" Sakura summed up, looking between them as they nodded and stared at her intently, dutifully ignoring each other's presence. "I think you should just do it already." They looked surprised. "You think staying together is what's best for me, but it's not. You don't notice when I disappear all night. You hit me, accident or not. You're constantly stressing each other out and you think that doesn't affect me too? You think I don't notice everything, but I do, and from what I see, your marriage is a lot worse off than even you two realize. You're asking me? I think you should have split up a long time ago."

"I—" her mother was taken aback, eyes wide, hand at her throat. "My word, is that what you really think?"

Sakura didn't want to say what she really thought. She thought that just because her mom never cursed, didn't mean she wasn't usually the aggressor. She didn't want to say that it had been years since she'd heard her father talk about friends of his own, and just because he worked nearby, didn't mean he had to come straight home after work ever single day. Yelling at him for being a few minutes late was unreasonable, and being his wife didn't make her his keeper. Sakura didn't want to say that her dad was finally wising up, and that was why their marriage was falling apart.

Sakura loved her mother, but she loved her father too, and she couldn't let this continue because they thought they should stay together for her sake. They were giving her the power to free them from each other and she was damn well going to use it.

"Yes, that's what I think."

Her mother almost looked upset that Sakura had given them permission to split. She had probably been the one insisting they stay together for their daughter, and she wasn't the type to accept being wrong gracefully. Sakura's father looked grateful and relieved.

"But, Sakura dear, are you sure you don't—"

"She's made her decision," Sakura's father interrupted, not giving her the chance to try and change their daughter's mind. "Remember what we agreed. Three things."

Sakura's mother looked at him for the first time, glowering. She stood up and left without a word.

"Three things?" Sakura asked.

"We both want a divorce, we love you more than we hate each other, and we'll respect your decision, whatever it may be," her father explained, standing up and moving to her side of the table to sit next to her. "She's just upset because she was wrong. She thought you'd want us to stay together."

"You didn't, though."

"No. You're too smart and selfless, I think," he said. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I've gotta ask . . . where do you go?"

"What?"

"When we're having our 'discussions'," he put air quotes around the word. Calling them discussions must have been her mom's idea. "I know you don't go to any of your school friends, unless their parents were lying to me over the phone. Where do you go?" Sakura didn't answer right away, and her father backpedaled quickly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. As long as you tell me that you're safe, I'll trust your judgement. And I won't tell your mother anything, either."

"I go someplace safe," she assured him with a smile.

"Alrighty then. If you're taken care of, that's all I need to know." He pulled her into a hug.

* * *

"Any thoughts on venue?" Karma asked while they were waiting for the next menu item. "I've got a couple." Kurra had been there the whole time, nearly an hour by that point, trying anything he could think of, and the pair brushed it all off without issue.

"Kinda . . ." Nagisa trailed off and Karma looked at him sincerely. "You know we got our invites for Chiba and Hayami's wedding."

"You said. You RSVP'd for us right?"

"Yeah. Well, they're having their ceremony up on the mountain. I thought it might be nice to do the same. I thought it could be a nice . . . tradition, I guess."

"I think that would be great," Karma agreed. "It'll be like he's there. After everything, it almost feels like good luck."

"Yeah." Nagisa's phone rang and he looked at it and frowned. "I'll be right back." He went inside to answer it. Once Nagisa was gone, Karma stood up. He stretched his arms up over his head and walked over to where Kurra was hiding.

"You suck at this, kid." Karma grabbed his collar and dragged him out to face him. Kurra's toes were barely still on the ground, and Karma was holding him up with one hand. "You think childish pranks will accomplish anything? What are you even doing here?"

"I—I—I—"

"You you you, what? Are you trying to get between the two of us?" Karma's expression was terrifying then. "I'm not an idiot. I know about your feelings, I just thought you were mature enough to realize you don't have a chance and keep it to yourself."

"There's always a chance! I just have to try," Kurra argued. "You can get anything you want if you work for it hard enough."

"Cute, you get that off a bumper sticker? You know shit like that doesn't apply to human beings, right? And it takes more than a little gumption and an inspirational quote to tear apart five years of dedication and mutual support."

"But—"

"But nothing, kid," Karma glared intensely, and the corners of his lips began to turn upwards in a terrifying smile. "Time for you to learn that you can't have everything you want just because you work for it. Time for you to learn to _give_ _up_ , because if you try this shit again, I will find you, and I will kill you in the most painful and horrific way you can imagine, and it will involve wasabi and ghost peppers. Understand buddy?"

"Got it."

"And I hope you know that I am deadly serious."

"Yeah, uh-huh." Kurra swallowed hard. He knew. He could tell that this conversation was the extent of the mercy Karma was going to give him. Nagisa-sensei's training was not nearly enough for Kurra to beat Karma in any kind of fight.

He had failed. He realized now that it was stupid of him to even try. Sujimura had been right. Karma was right. As much as he wanted Nagisa-sensei, it really wasn't worth his life.

Karma dropped him and he all but scurried out of the garden and down the street. His eyes stung, but he wasn't going to cry. His chest ached, but heartbreak was to be expected since he was being forced to give up on someone he loved.

Kurra didn't really understand love, though he didn't realize it yet. Perhaps one day he would learn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your dose of Karmagisa for this arc. Sorry it's a little light, but worry not, there's plenty more to come. Happy Friday the 13th! Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor!


	10. Kid time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Saishuu babysits his nieces and nephews, who are almost certainly possessed by demons, and a mysterious new student fills outs some paperwork at the behest of a mysterious old teacher, to transfer into class 3-5 after summer break.

"Thanks so much for doing this," Saishuu's eldest sister, Shiroi, said to him, grabbing her jacket off the back of a chair and checking her pockets to make sure she had everything she needed. "It's been forever since Yasashi and I had a date night, so it's really great of you to watch the boys for us. You're like a superhero right now. I'm not exaggerating."

"What're little brothers for if not to babysit your kids so you can go fuck your husband who's too old for you?" Saishuu responded, smiling.

"Hey, we've been over this." She fixed him with a practiced glare. "Me and Yasashi are both fully grown adults who can make our own decisions. You and the rest of the brats can stop giving us grief about it any time now."

Shiroi's husband was ten years and ten months older than her, which had concerned the rest of the Yukki family when they first found out. Her siblings started to call him 'cradle-robber' pretty much as soon as they found out the two of them were together. Even after finding out that Yasashi was perhaps the most gentle, kind-hearted man any of them knew, the joke continued—because siblings are terrible and no one knows that better than they do—but it held no bite anymore. It was hard not to love Yasashi, even if he was an old, old, old, _old_ man. 

"And watch that mouth of yours around the kids," Shiroi reminded him. "I don't want to come home to a houseful of foul-mouthed delinquents."

"I promise I will be the only foul-mouthed delinquent in the house when you come home," Saishuu said. "Kei and Hiro will be out robbing the liquor store by then."

"Very funny," she said flatly.

"Cradle-robber's waiting for you out in the car. You'd better get going."

"Right," she made her way to the front door, but was still giving him orders as he pushed her out. "Make sure they eat, and don't let them have any sweets before dinner, and I do _not_ mean give them sweets _for_ dinner. I can hear you plotting in your head. Their bedtime is no later than nine, and if they say they're not tired make them do jumping jacks until they are. That's what their dad does, and it's the only thing that works. Make sure they don't destroy the house—and _definitely_ don't destroy the house for them." Saishuu closed the door behind her and the last thing her heard her say was to shout, "Do you hear me‽" through the door.

Shiroi had two sons, Saishuu's nephews, and they were named Kei and Hiro, and were ages five and three respectively. Both had inherited the trademark dark green Yukki hair from their mother despite technically being Yamauchis like their father. Kei also got his bright green eyes from his mother's side of the family, though they had skipped Shiroi. Other than the hair, Hiro took after his father in every way, from his dark, olive skin to his coal black eyes to the mole by his right ear in exactly the same spot as his father's. Currently, they were in their shared bedroom, Kei supposedly working on a picture diary for his kindergarten, and Hiro playing with toys. Saishuu didn't really expect that to be what was actually going on when he went into their room to check on them.

He switched from sibling mode to uncle mode as he walked down the hallway. Sibling mode was a persona that only twelve people got to see: his siblings and his parents, but since sibling mode was so very different from his other personas, like school mode, and friend mode, those twelve people had a vastly different idea of who he was than everyone else did.

They still thought he was a smug and sarcastic delinquent with a short fuse, even though he really hadn't been since middle school. That had been a pretty crappy time in his life. He'd been a real asshole in middle school, but then, he figured most middle schoolers were assholes.

Uncle mode was slightly more authoritative. It had to be, because he was pretty sure his nephews were possessed by demons. He could swear he smelled sulfur as he opened the boys' room. It didn't really matter to him if it was in his head or not, because Kei had given Hiro his crayons, and there was brightly colored wax all over the pale grey walls of their bedroom. Saishuu was in for a long night.

"If you climb on top of the nightstand you can draw even higher, Hiro!" Kei encouraged, and Hiro put the green crayon he was holding in his mouth in order to climb on top of the blue nightstand between his crib and his brother's bed, knocking over the lamp in the process. "There's lots of negative space. You should fill it in."

"Leaving negative space can be artistic and symbolic. You should leave it Hiro," Saishuu suggested. Hiro was young and tended to follow whoever sounded the most confident in what they were saying since he recognized tones more than actual words, which he was still getting the hang of, so Saishuu hoped all it would take to deal with this situation was to talk around Kei. "It could become the first masterpiece of your existential period."

"Hiro's too little to be existical," Kei argued. "He can't start a new period now anyway. He's only made three pieces for his chaos period."

"Who exactly dictates the length of a period?" Saishuu asked.

"God." Kei stared up at him defiantly, fist clenched like an anime protagonist during their eleventh hour motivational speech. Then his face scrunched up and he looked down at the floor, then back up at Saishuu. "What does dictates mean?"

Kei was a smart kid, and his family suspected he might have a photographic memory. Korito, the family's resident artist, had taught him all that stuff about artistic periods and negative space almost a year ago, and he never forgot it. He had a tendency to mispronounce words, especially if they were more than two syllables, but he never forgot what they meant. Despite all this, he was still only five years old, and didn't understand everything, as much as he wanted to, so he asked a _lot_ of questions. Saishuu had to admit it could get obnoxious, but he also hoped Kei would keep asking them as he grew up.

"It means 'says with authority' basically, or 'decides' in this context." Kei nodded. During this exchange, Hiro was sitting on top of the nightstand, chewing on the green crayon clutched tightly in his chubby fist. "For example: I'm the one who dictates where Hiro gets to draw. Not on the walls." He took the crayon away from Hiro and handed him a teething ring before moving him to his crib and replacing the lamp on the nightstand, thankfully it was plastic and not ceramic or glass, so it didn't break.

"Why are _you_ the dictater?" Kei demanded. His understanding of word forms was also quite impressive for one so young, irritatingly so. "You don't even live here! This isn't your room, it's ours, and _I'm_ his older brother. You're not even our _mommy's_ older brother. You're just a kid, like us, only bigger, and mommy says size doesn't matter."

 _Okay, definitely filing that away for later,_ Saishuu thought before addressing Kei's question. "I'm the dictator because your mommy is paying me to tell you what to do, and to make sure you follow her rules while she's not around."

"When mommy's not around we make our own rules," Kei shouted. He stuck his fist straight up. "VIVA LA REVOLUTION!"

"Viva wevoushum!" Hiro echoed, clutching the railing of his crib and bouncing excitedly. He was not nearly as articulate as his older brother.

"Where did you hear that?" Saishuu couldn't help but ask.

"A movie. It means we're gonna _fight you up_ Uncle Saishuu!" Kei was still shouting at the top of his little lungs. "Any last words?" Saishuu crouched down to look him in the eye.

"I accept your challenge you weak, insignificant, little man," he said.

"Very well," Kei said, squinting at his uncle in what he could only assume was supposed to be a serious and intimidating glare. "But one question though . . . what's insigant mean?"

" _In-sig-ni-fi-cant_ means not valuable or important."

"In sig ni fi cant." Kei repeated under his breath. "In sig ni fi cant. Insigif- _nif_ icant."

Saishuu instantly regretted teaching Kei that word.

"YOU'RE INSIGNIFIGANT!" the five year old bellowed, jumping into a power stance, his feet apart, his finger pointing right at his uncle, his shrill voice piercing through Saishuu's eardrums. "VIVA LA REVOLUTION!"

"Vivo wevoyushin!" Hiro echoed again. Squealing with glee, he pushed himself up over the edge of his crib and landed headfirst on the carpeted floor. "Ouchie!" he shouted, but he didn't cry, thankfully. Kei must have trained him. Saishuu sighed.

"Right . . . Alright Robespierre, is your homework done?"

"I'll just do it all right before it's due. Sensei's not gonna know," Kei said dismissively. "All I have to do is draw thirty pictures and she doesn't even expect them to actually _look_ like anything."

"Waiting until the last minute to do something you're required to do is called _procrastinating_ , and it's actually illegal," Saishuu told him. He didn't really expect it to work, and of course it didn't.

"Procanat—porastin—pocastra—" Kei groaned in frustration. He scrunched up his eyebrows and puffed up his cheeks and gave up on trying to pronounce the new word. "It is _not_ illegal. Only arson is illegal."

He didn't expect it to backfire quite like that, though. Since his dad was a fire fighter, it made sense that he'd know what arson was and that it was illegal, but his mom was a private—or at least, she had a PI's license, even if she only used it to help with journalistic research. "What about stealing? That's illegal."

"No, that's unmoral," Kei crossed his arms, "I know 'cause I steal ice-pops from the freezer all the time, and I never been arrested for it."

"What about killing someone?"

"That's only illegal if you don't get consent first," Kei said matter-of-factly. "If you ask somebody and they say you can, then it's okay. But I think you shouldn't need consent if they're just a jerk, but mommy and daddy said you _always_ have to get consent first."

Saishuu didn't think his parents were talking about murder when they told him that, but if he said as much, Kei would probably take it to mean that he didn't need consent to murder someone if they were a jerk, and that was not a lesson he wanted to be teaching his nephew.

"Oookay then, until you usurp me, little revolutionary, I hold all the power, and I say you better get all the crayon off the walls or I'm not feeding you."

"What's usurp mean?"

"Overthrow."

"So if I knock you over I get all the power?"

"Good luck, pipsqueak. Let's go get you some warm water and a rag."

When they walked into the kitchen, the floor was covered in water and soap bubbles. Not keeping an eye on Hiro while he argued with Kei was a mistake. Kei was far more intelligent and cunning, but Hiro was the really destructive one. Nine times out of ten, when it came to making a mess, Kei was nothing more than the enabler.

Hiro was sitting on the counter by the kitchen sink, holding a sippy cup, scooping water out of the overflowing sink and onto the floor. As Saishuu stared in horror, Kei laughing riotously at his side, Hiro stood up and opened the cupboard where the plates were kept, grabbing the bottom one on the stack and trying to pull it out.

Saishuu barely had time to wonder how the three year old even managed to climb onto the counter, which was far taller than he was, before he ran across the wet floor, soaking his socks in the process, to pry Hiro's fat baby hands off of Shiroi's nice china plates. He scooped the damp toddler up with one arm and used the other to turn off the tap. He carried Hiro back to his crib, but this time once the toddler was inside, he tied a blanket securely over the top so that he couldn't escape.

"Naughty boys who make a mess have to go to baby jail," Saishuu told him. "Think about this next time that demon in your head tries to tempt you into doing something bad." Hiro immediately tried to climb back out of the crib, then started crying when he couldn't lift up the blanket.

"This is wrongful imprisoning!" Kei said. "You can't do that! Hiro has rights! I'll call his lawyer and get you cited for abuse of power!"

"Get rid of the crayon while I make dinner," Saishuu ordered, already at the end of his rope. This promised to be a _long_ night.

* * *

After what felt like probably four days, at least, eight-thirty finally rolled around, and it was time for Saishuu to put his nephews to bed. He gave Hiro some warm milk and the kid conked out pretty quickly after that, but Kei flat-out refused.

"I won't go to bed until the revolution is won!" he yelled. Saishuu shushed him, hoping that Hiro hadn't woken up. He hadn't.

"How about this," Saishuu proposed, exhausted. "We'll have a push-up contest, and if I win, you have to go to sleep, and if you win, I'll give you ice cream for dinner next time I babysit. Deal?"

"How about instead of push-ups, we do jumping jacks?" This kid probably did jumping jacks all the time since his dad made him do them before bed to get him tired, not to mention Kei definitely had more energy than Saishuu by that point. Still, he didn't think he would lose to a five year old.

"Okay, you're on!"

They cleared a space on the floor, and stood facing each other, each with a serious expression, as if this were a major battle, and not just a jumping jacks competition.

"Ready. Set. Go." Saishuu said, then he started counting in a whisper, loud enough for Kei to hear and keep pace.

They reached fifty, still going strong. By seventy-five, Saishuu was starting to feel it, but he wasn't going to give up. By a hundred and ten, he could hear Kei panting, but he was panting too, so it was hard to tell who was winning. By a hundred and sixty one, Kei finally stopped, bending over and clutching his side, gasping for air. Saishuu did two more, just so Kei couldn't argue that it was a tie.

"I win."

"Rematch!" Kei said hoarsely.

"You would go back on your word?" He was trying to sound aghast, but given that even standing upright was exhausting, Saishuu's words missed the mark. "That's the mark of a villain and a coward."

"Fine! I'll go to bed!" He flopped down on his My Hero Academia Red Riot bedspread to catch his breath. Saishuu sat down on the floor to do the same. He still had some cleanup to do once the boys were asleep, but that wouldn't take long. "Hey, Uncle Saishuu?" Kei piped up after a long moment.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Will you come babysit us again, sometime?"

"Probably," he answered. "It depends on whether or not mommy ever invites me back after she sees the state of your bedroom walls." Kei had made no attempt to scrub the crayon off before dinner, or at any point during the evening.

"I hope you come back again," he mumbled, then he was out like a light. 

_Keep dreaming devil-spawn,_ he thought, but he knew he'd likely come back to babysit them all the same. Saishuu smiled at him, then stood up to get started on the cleaning.

* * *

"Looks like all your paperwork is in order," the principal said, looking over the transfer forms. "I must say it's odd to transfer schools halfway through your final year. I'm afraid I'll have to put you in class 3-5 so as not do disrupt the curriculum of the more . . . _advanced_ classes."

"I completely understand." There was something about the student's smile once those words were out that put the principal on edge.

"Our school will be happy to host you once the term begins again," he said, trying to get the student to leave in the most polite way possible. The new student remained seated across his desk.

"I understand the teacher-in-training for that class is Nagisa Shiota, is that right?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, that's correct," the principal answered. He wondered how the student knew of Nagisa, since he wasn't officially listed as class five's teacher, but didn't want to ask. He wanted this strange person to leave. "I have another meeting soon, so if you wouldn't mind seeing yourself out?"

"Right, of course. Thank you again for accepting me into your prestigious school." The student stood, offered him a shallow bow, and left his office. He sagged with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, arc five: Complete! 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this arc, I have to say it's my personal favorite so far, but I'm a sucker for background characters getting screen time, and also I'm biased because I accidentally put waaaaay too much effort into certain OCs and it always feels like a waste for that effort to go unseen. Sorry for the cliffhanger btw. Arc six is already fully planned out, so I just have to get to writing and it should be out in a month or two. Thanks for sticking with me! Love y'all.
> 
> <3 Raaor


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